A Bird, A Cage
by LittleMaggie
Summary: Draco Malfoy is an anal, control-freak adult. Then someone we all knew from Hogwarts (it'll keep you guessing till the SHOCKIND end!) in the disguise of a goth girl turns his life upside down and he HATES it! Who is she (if its a she)?
1. Default Chapter

**Author's Note: **My personal life's been chaotic, this is my final attempt at actually starting – and finishing! – a fan fiction. If I fail again I'll give up on fan fiction for Harry Potter. If I succeed, I'll keep writing, and take it a day at a time. Let's all cheer me on with this one, eh, lads? Raise a pint for me, kick back, and enjoy.

**Chapter One**

"Dearest Draco!

I've found myself lodging at one of the most darling places,

with trees everywhere and high stone walls and bountiful gardens –

it's very private out here, your father would be fond of it. The streets

are all named Elm, Willow, Raven, St. John's Wort, and the like,

keeping to a lowbrow, conservative suburban manner.

Ever since your father has decided to move from our mansion,

I've kept my eye out for a good place to relocate, and I think this might

be it. I haven't asked the locals much about who lives here yet, but I

do know quite a few of the finest of Hogwarts has moved here and

settled down, with families.

Which makes me wonder, dear Draco, when will you get a

move on it? You haven't been seeing a girl since sixth year, and

you're almost twenty. Half of Hogwarts is married, even the

Mudbloods have fared better than you in hunting down spouses.

Are you just not interested?

It's wonderful here so far, I'll see if any of your old friends

are here. I forgot to mention, this place is known as Port O'Willow,

for there's a fine beach with all these little ships puttering around

and the bountiful weeping willows. It's gloomy out here, it isn't

too hot in the summer and the winters are said to be frosty but

generally mild.

There aren't very many children yet, but all the young

couples won't be sitting around doing nothing I wager. If there's

too many brats squealing about up and down the street we

might move again, as your father can't concentrate right on his

paperwork. You know what I mean about that.

How has he been, by the way? Alright?

I mustn't write too much of it in case someone else

reads it – as I said, you know what I mean.

Your Mother, Narcissa Malfoy"

Draco read this and promptly tossed the paper into the fireplace, where it was eaten alive until it became a black, glowing worm, then died and became part of the kindle-wood it fell on.

&&&&&&&&&&&

****

The next morning, he woke and found that his room was just as he left it the night before. This meant the maid has been going more slack than ever, for there were papers strewn across the ground near the fireplace and wastebasket, all fruits of his labor, trying to write telling stories for the Daily Prophet. He had never suspected he'd turn out to be a journalist, associating their kind with rat-like, nosey filth, digging through the sludge left behind by big-names like Harry Potter or Dumbledore, or the sort.

Yet his talent in writing blossomed, especially in the middle of his sixth year, and he had begun to provide articles to the school paper, which was assembled by, once again, a new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher – a mild mannered lady that kept her class writing creative stories and reports more than practicing spells or doing lab work.

Draco disliked the class originally, found himself too snide to write a paper about how he felt the school ought to be improved – if he had truly wrote what he meant, he'd sit through a decent oral spanking from McGonagall – but his writing held clarity and was often darkly humorous, and he became a popular source of material for the school paper.

Miss Clary, as this was her name, saw Draco a few times outside of class and asked him to write additionally for her. She taught him to see stories in small things, and he realized he had a lot to say about a few things. At first most of his writing was bitter commentary, complaining about a particular Hufflepuff's Quidditch team player and his lack of performance, or writing about how Gryffindor had oddly warmer quarters compared to the dungeon-like atmosphere of the Slytherin commons.

Eventually his work evolved, and he began to report on things too, like the way a particular game went – he did tend to bias on the Slytherin side, and would always be too proud to change that – but he had a keen eye and could observe just where the turning point of the game was, and who was most valuable. He could even offer his sworn enemy Harry Potter a half-compliment here or there, naming a particular move of his as "significantly less clumsy than most of the previous performance seen thus far in the game", or a particular catch of the Snitch as "a rare stroke of luck for his wildly flailing hands on his now outdated broom".

Soon he was being _asked _to write more, not just by Slytherin students but others as well. He had a very unique way of writing, in which he wrote very grammatically correct and intelligently, and proved a difficult read sometimes, yet was too interesting to put down, despite the language and the tone of the paper. He wrote on a wide range of subjects and in his seventh year he became an apprentice to a journalist for the Prophet, a man who had graduated from Slytherin four years before Draco would. He was a large name in journalism, and one of the "accomplished" Slytherins, with a plaque baring his picture and his name hanging in a Hall of Fame.

He had taken on a pen name – Brom Breeler – that he had begun to use even when meeting people, as that is the name that he was most famous for. Though he was very proud to be a Malfoy, he liked the anonymity that came with a pen name; and very few people knew that it was Draco Malfoy behind the name Brom Breeler. It helped him get interviews from people that would have otherwise not divulged their information to a Malfoy.

Draco liked his job, for the most part, but had run into a horrible writer's block that led to some dull, uninspired pieces for the paper. Caught up between his parent's idea to relocate to a different home out of the blue, and his father's odd illness and senility that came from nowhere, all led to Draco's inability to produce two sentences worth reading.

He had sat himself up in bed and, in doing so, ran a hand through his thick, white-blonde hair. He looked around the room with a critical eye again and saw that his father must have bustled into his room again during the night. His odd ritual of bring a spoon and saucer into every room and setting it upside down, the spoon balanced on the saucer's base, was just one of the strange things he had begun to do.

His father's condition was spoken in code words and half-sentences between himself and his mother. They didn't dare write it out, due to the slightest of chances that someone could intercept their private letters and learn that all was not well with the great Lucius Malfoy.

Having had retired from his job, and living off a very bountiful retirement fund as well as the great Malfoy family's long-time wealth, there needn't be much exposure of Lucius to the public anymore. However, Draco had to deal with him every day while passing him in the halls or during meals.

The maid was no help; she had been with the family for years and had grown to be quite like a fat, lazy cat, having had been with the family too long to dispose of but old enough to be unable to do much more than linger from room to room, mostly enjoying the fireplace and her quarters.

Draco had written for the paper in all sorts of ways, and had once written an editorial about this maid, outlining how much she meant to the family. He cursed under his breath now, "fucking joke, keeping the house in this state", as he threw open his wardrobe to look for some clothing.

He slept nude often, enjoying the tumble of black and red silk sheets, its soft fold and caress against his body. He was used to living quite lavishly. This fine morning he stood in all his lithe, feline glory in front of a few dozen shirts, pants, and suits. He smiled to himself, pulled out one of many black slacks and a crisp black shirt and white tie. He pulled out some underclothes from a bureau beside his bed and then dressed quickly. He was slim and quite tall at about a thumb more than two meters.

His eyes whipped across the room with the keen eye of a reporter and he caught himself in the large, floor-length mirror. He smiled at himself grimly and acknowledged the start of a brand new day.

****

There was little to amuse himself with in the kitchen, so he snatched a roll from a basket on the table, wolfed it down by the time he reached the sink, and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher by the sink and drank it. That was his breakfast. He ate little, walked a lot, and had started to lose weight lately; before he looked quite healthy but now he was looking paler, with defined cheekbones and a somewhat depressed, thin slouch.

Just as he was leaving the kitchen, Lucius stumbled in. "Draco, where do you think you're going? Dinner's ready."

"Sorry?" Draco looked at his father coolly, used to his inane babbling after he suffered the stroke he had soon after retiring. That, and the senility that comes naturally with aging, had left Lucius completely out of his mind. "Look, Dad, just stay with Rose, I feel like getting coffee."

Rose was their aging maid.

"Rose? She's hanging from the ceiling, yes, yes," Lucius turned around and grasped an apple from the basket. He bit into it, set it down on the table, picked it up and bit into the opposite side, then said sadly to himself, "You're too young to be going out on your own like this."

Draco looked away from his father, both from embarrassment and pain; it was hard to see a man that was once so proud and so put-together broken to pieces like this. He knew that Narcissa would never let Lucius go to a "home", she would prefer to watch him herself until either she or he died. Draco didn't want Lucius to go live in a "home" either, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to manage with him.

Draco sighed and left the kitchen, calling out to Rose as he left, "I'll be back in two hours! Mind my father, would you?"

"Alright," She called back from the cozy room with the fireplace.

Scowling, Draco pulled on a light black blazer and stepped out into the cool September morning. It looked like it would rain any minute.

&&&&&&&&&&&

****

Draco slipped into the café and sat himself down in the corner. The waitress brought him his usual – a cup of coffee with some whipped cream and white chocolate shavings on the top – and he paid her, both for the coffee and the paper he picked up from the stand when he walked in. She left and he focused on the headline.

His rival at work was Neville Longbottom, who didn't go by pen name but knew Draco's. Though Neville started out writing small editorials and introspective half-page features, his popularity began to escalate when people found themselves identifying with his self-conscious, shy tone and cute joking manner. Neville often covered the milder stories, the ones about witches doing great things like saving someone from a fire, or witches and wizards gathering their money together to form a new orphanage. Draco covered huge sports events, terrible things like murders and rapes, and was often both on-site to these occurrences. He had seen terrible things, and was becoming increasingly tolerant of seeing blood, gore, and mayhem.

Right now he was assigned a different sort of article – a full-page article focusing on something about the community, something family-oriented, or something friendly. There was a new head of the paper, and she was branching out in liberal ways – trying to bring more color and joy to the world by including flowery stories amidst the front-page _real _headliners. Draco had managed to duck her "happy story" assignments, by either swapping stories with someone who got coverage of something Draco was more suited for or by going out and finding stories first, therefore getting to cover them and not having to write nonsense.

Yet, as fate had it, Draco's name came up in the hat of chance and he had to write something pansy-like and cheerful. He had gone to see Mrs. Kampf (the head) about it, and their conversation went something like this:

"I don't cover stories like this."

"Nonsense, you're our best journalist, uh..."

"Breeler."

"Right, Brom Breeler. Oh hey, you covered that murder-suicide story a few weeks ago, haven't you? That was before I came in, wasn't it? Excellent coverage, nice source work..."

"Yes, you see, those are the kind of stories I _like _to cover."

"With talent like yours, you could whip up a story that would raise the entire _region's_ morale, Breeler."

"I don't _like _writing stories like this."

"A good journalist can find a story in anything. Your assignment is to write something about the community, something light-hearted, warm, perhaps even funny. Expand your horizons a little."

"I don't _do _warm and funny."

"I'm sorry, this is your story."

"Which story did Longbottom get?"

"That awful accident in a potions shop that got a whole block nearly burned down, the one in Broom's County."

"Oh, _great_, that's fabulous, Longbottom can't write a story like that! He should take my story! I can make a real front-page story out of his!"

"And his _will _be front-page, and yours will be too, if you do a good job. There's nothing else to say."

Now Draco looked at the second consecutive Sunday edition of the paper, with Neville's story on the most recent event – a foreign country's hurricane that had destroyed homes and taken lives – running as first-headline, front-page material. Draco skimmed the article, noting that he had taken a weak eye witness report as a major source, and hadn't thought of talking to a professional about why the storm was as severe as it was; rather, he took a humane twist and went into more depth about the people that died, their lives, and the mourning of the families, and what people were doing to clean the mess up. Draco thought about how he would have gotten to the raw meat of it, finding what caused it, how weather across the country foreshadowed it (perfect hindsight bias, he smirked to himself), what the damage of the storm was, the monetary loss, the effect on both Muggle and Magical World's stock markets... the story could have been stretched _so _far, _so _extensively!

A finger suddenly pressed his paper down from the middle and wiggled like a worm, trying to catch his attention. It took him a second to realize that it came with a voice, and his ears tuned in a bit too late, "- - cuse me... sir?"

He glanced up and saw that just over the finger, which had creased his paper into a V-shape in the middle, and saw a pair of brown eyes, lined excessively with black eye pencil.

Draco ducked his paper down and then brought it up again in front of her finger, smoothened it out, then closed it, folded it meticulously in half, pressed the crease down, and only then looked up and asked, "Yes?"

" Can I have the newspaper when you're done?" The voice asked again. He looked over the face, thinking about how he would describe it if he were writing an article – _with kohl-lined, candid eyes _– but no, he saw her cheeks and her hairdo – _a pale face, speckled with the lightest of freckles, and black hair folding around her face like wings _– but no, her lips and nose, her expression! – _a cheeky, defiant grin riding on a pair of black-colored lips _– or maybe he could just get to the point of it, he thought to himself laughingly, _- a goth girl._

"Why's that?" Draco asked icily. It was too early in the morning and he had taken only one slurp of his coffee, so his attitude was still more than generous in the friendliness department than usual.

"You've taken the last paper. I always come here every morning and read the paper."

"What if I'd like to take it home with me?"

"Then I'm afraid you'd have to take me with you," She grinned and her black lips cut across her face like to knives, revealing very white teeth. Or perhaps her teeth weren't that white at all, but against her lipstick they looked pristine.

Draco wasn't in the mood for flirting. He was rather annoyed by now. Here was this stranger pestering him for his newspaper, and God damn it if he could_ ever _have a morning to himself without someone breathing down his neck!

"Is it interesting today?" She asked.

"It's tolerable," Draco tapped his fingers at the headline – **Twister Tears Homes, Lives Apart** – and said, "That was supposed to be my story, you see."

"Oh! You write for the Prophet!" She looked positively delighted.

"Breeler?" Draco said, finally, after giving her a long hard stare. She was far too happy for this time in the morning. She was far too happy for someone dressed like they were going to a mime's funeral.

"Brom Breeler! I always read your stories! You're good at your job," her cheeks were infused now with pink undertones, "It's nice to meet you! I'm a fan! You write some good opinion columns and editorials too." She stuck her hand out to shake his. There was a ring with a skull on it on one hand, and two more rings on the other that were silver and clunky.

"Thank you," Draco said, shaking her hand. Her fingers were warm, his ice-cold. He blamed it on poor circulation: he was tall and thin and his heart just couldn't beat that hot blood to his fingers and toes, so every finger on his body was forever cold.

"So what do you mean about it being _your _story? Someone else already wrote it, right? So it isn't your story."

"Longbottom can't cover a story like I can," Draco leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, "I've been assigned a really lame piece and I can't get it done. I'm not used to writing those kinds of pieces, Longbottom is. Meanwhile he's getting all the stories that are up _my _alley, and I can't write a thing. Everyone's on my back about it."

"That sucks," She summarized the entire conversation with those words.

"No, really?" Draco looked at the paper critically.

"No wonder I haven't seen a Breeler story in the paper for a while," She seemed to miss his sarcasm entirely, either choosing to or simply not perceiving it in the first place.

Draco gulped down half his coffee and set the coffee cup aside, placing a few coins beside it. "Here, take it," he moved the newspaper forwards on the table until it was right underneath her fingertips. They were, unsurprisingly, lacquered and black.

"You're done?"

"No, but this conversation is," Draco stood, attempting to get away from her. He wasn't in the mood for talking, nor had he been for the past few days. He couldn't even write back a decent letter to his own mother, because it would come out whiny and accusing: _why aren't you back yet?, father's out of hand, he isn't doing well, I can't get any work done, why do we have to move?, it's cold and drafty in every room because Rose forgets to close the windows._

"You're nice," She struck back.

"I'm a journalist. I'm never nice." With that, he walked away, pulling on his blazer. As he walked out of the café and past its floor to ceiling windows, he saw her sitting at his table, reading Neville's article and scowling a little. She had a black skirt on, fishnets, oversized army boots and a black sweatshirt.

Draco never could understand odd people like that. Why draw so much attention to yourself? He walked on, shaking his head, wondering why she chose to pester him about the newspaper. There were other people reading the paper in the café. Then he realized he was wearing all black but his white tie, and he rolled his eyes at his own lack of imagination – she probably thought he was like her.

For a moment he considered never going back to the café again, since she appeared to be a regular, and so was he, and, now being acquainted, he would have to greet her every day. Draco didn't want to greet her. However, nobody made coffee like Starwand's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** **IMPORTANT! READ THIS! **Believe it or not, Vivian isn't an OC (Original Character!) but that's all I will say. I didn't create her, JK Rowling did; it is a tricky minor female character - who says only Draco operates under a "false name", anyway?

**Chapter 2 **

**(read Authors note first, IMPORTANT)**

Late into the evening, the doorbell rang.

Rose was busy turning saucers and spoons right-side up in the kitchen, cleaning up after Lucius, and Lucius was upstairs sleeping already; therefore Draco had to run down a rather lengthy staircase, pass through the main hallway, enter the entrance hallway and then open the door.

Though it took a good two minutes from the doorbell to the door being opened, the doorbell-ringer was still there. When Draco opened the door, he saw the familiar face of his distant cousin, a man even taller than him. He stepped inside immediately, dragging a ten-year-old girl in by the hand.

"Good evening," His cousin said.

"George," Draco replied curtly, knowing what he was going to say next by heart, for it happened about twice weekly now.

"Can you watch Katie for me?"

The ten-year-old gave Draco a vicious look. Draco gave her an equally vicious look back. " Uh, alright," Draco said cautiously, "I hope this doesn't become too regular a thing?" It had started two months ago and increased exponentially by the week.

"I really am sorry, but I'm going through that... divorce..." He lowered his voice discreetly for the word, "and nobody else can watch her."

The only reason Draco was involved in this all in the first place was because Katie was an exhausting child, with an imagination and a curiosity drive that could shred anyone softer than iron to pieces. Draco was tough, cold, and distant, and he managed to survive Katie by engaging her in mindless tasks like sorting his papers or labeling folders with back-copies of almost all his stories. Katie usually found a way to worm into the hearts of family, friends, and babysitters alike, and then suck on them like a leech, getting them to buy her things – by way of guilt trips and crocodile tears – or taking her places – by the same way. Draco, having never liked children, was immune and she knew it.

"I hope it's all over soon," Draco didn't even disguise how he disliked the job.

After a pregnant silence, George let go of Katie's hand, knelt in front of her, and said, "You be good, princess, I'll pick you up tomorrow." Then, looking up at Draco, he added, "I have her suitcase in her pocket, just use your wand to get it out."

Draco nodded, " She's spending the night?"

"Sorry, really, I've got a summons to court very early tomorrow morning and it'll be easier if she just spent the night, rather than bring her so early in the morning."

"I see," Draco sighed, "I'll watch her."

"Thank you," George looked relieved, just as he was every single time Draco gave in. While Draco found George predictable, George didn't seem to realize that their exchanges were almost always worded the same. Very little changed, except here and there George or Draco would add in an odd sentence about the status of things, the weather, or some recent event.

"I'll be going then," George stepped out of the house and stood outside, holding the door open still, "Goodnight, Katie."

"Goodnight, Daddy," Katie said. Draco could swear he could hear a serpent hissing inside the disgusting child from inside.

The door closed and Draco turned and looked at Katie, "So, slumber party, huh? I'm beside myself." Draco couldn't help but complain. This was yet another pain in his behind. He had just pieced together a decent first paragraph but because of the interruption he lost inspiration anew.

"Where do I sleep?" She asked, "It's cold down here."

"There's at least a dozen guest bedrooms, this is a large manor," Draco replied. He found it most sensible to give her the bedroom across the hallway from his, in case she might start choking on the bile she spewed every time she talked. He just didn't _like _children.

"Can I pick one?"

"I already picked it." He couldn't help but thing the word "nose" during their little exchange. He smirked. He liked his sense of humor.

"Aw, no fair," Katie grimaced, "Where?"

"Across the hall from me. So if I hear you jumping on the bed, I'll get you," He said, half-joking, half-seriously.

Katie looked at him critically, "a white tie?"

"It goes well with the black shirt. I like the contrast," Draco remarked, then added, "Though I suppose fashion advice from someone wearing a pink dress and green tights is a little..."

"Everything else was dirty," Katie countered, "Mom doesn't live with us anymore and Dad keeps forgetting to clean or do laundry. And I don't have my wand yet."

"I see." Draco motioned for her to follow him. He took a few steps, then turned suddenly and asked, "Have you had dinner?"

"No."

"Neither have I. Let's stop and eat first."

"Can you cook?"

"I've got a wand."

"Oh."

They walked into the kitchen. Within five minutes, they both had a plate with a scoop of gravy-laden mashed potatoes, a chicken leg for Katie and a leg and wing for Draco, and a side of peas.

"Peas?" Katie mumbled, dragging her fork through them.

"Eat them, they're good for you," Draco replied.

"What do they do?"

He didn't know. " Still, eat it."

They ate mostly in silence for a few minutes. Katie finally started up the conversation with the only thing she could come up with, "Is your Dad still all funny and stuff?"

Draco could feel his ears color in embarrassment, "He _isn't_..."

Katie looked at the kitchen counter, where yet again two saucers and spoons were laid out in the shape of a peculiar new-age sculpture. Draco hunched his back, he didn't even have to say it. Her smile grew thin and cruel, " I'll tell my friends about him."

"There's nothing to tell," Draco barked at her, then stood up, scooping his plate into the sink.

"I always wanted to get this one book I saw last time Dad and I went to Hogsmeade," Katie added, "about unicorns and dragons and mermaids."

He looked at her, eyebrows raised, "You can't be serious."

"I'll tell," She said in a sing-song voice.

Draco's eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits, "What store?"

**&&&&&&&&&**

The next morning, Draco found himself standing in line at a bookstore, purchasing a book, Katie swinging on his elbow and chattering in a lively tone about how she always wanted such a nice, _expensive_ book. He scowled through most of her banter, his eyes looking at the spinning advertisements for books on the ceiling.

"Mr. Breeler!" He heard being called from somewhere behind him.

He kept his eyes averted to the ceiling for he recognized the voice and hoped to look at busy as possible. He shuffled Katie to his other hand, where he was holding the book, keeping his eyes transfixed on a moving advertisement of a witch showing the difference a pattern could make for someone of an apple versus pear body shape. He used his other hand to pull out his wallet. In one synchronized swoop, he looked down into his wallet, his hair fluttering slightly and falling into his eyes as he did so. It had grown out quite long now, feathering out just under his earlobes, a little longer at the nape of the neck. When he looked down a swoop of white-blonde hair would escape from behind his ear and shroud his face a little.

His hair was doing that at the moment, as he knew the voice was to the left, and he hoped the curtain of hair was enough to separate them.

"Mr. Breeler?" A hand tapped on his shoulder.

He looked up, his eyebrows knotted, "Yes?"

A pair of black lips smiled back into his face, "I didn't know you had a little girl! You're so young," she looked down at Katie.

_If it isn't my greatest fan_, Draco thought bitterly. "For God's sake, no, I don't have children, I don't really like children. This is just a little pest that managed to maneuver me, like a pawn, to buy her this book on unicorns and other critters of the like."

She laughed.

He hadn't realized he had said anything especially brilliant. He glanced down at his clothing of choice – black pants and a black turtleneck. She was probably salivating, thinking Draco was some sort of depressed artist. The truth was, Draco simply preferred black pants, and he had accumulated a wide range of shirts, ranging from a silver-and-green one he wore with Slytherin pride, to a few white ones of varying fanciness, to a few turtlenecks – two black, one red, one white – two black shirts, one fancy and one a typical button-down, and a black blazer and trench coat. There were also a few odd shirts or sweaters that he had gotten as gifts from people, which he set aside and never looked at. He considered his style as businessman-like, nothing unusual.

"What's your name?" The strange girl was asking Katie.

"Katie," Katie replied, with all her girlish charm, "What's yours?"

"Vivian," She responded, pursing her lips into a little black rosette, "Is he your brother, then?" Katie's blonde ponytail and clear blue eyes seemed to hint at a close relationship, but they were really distant cousins. The entire Malfoy line looked quite Germanic and Nordic, with their blonde hair and blue eyes and pale skin.

"He's my cousin," Katie's sweet voice cooed.

"How nice of him to buy you a book!" Vivian gave Draco a glowing smile, "I was wondering if you could help me with something. I wanted to ask after I found who you were before, but I hesitated. Now I know it's fate that we ran into each other again. I have to ask."

Draco resisted rolling his eyes. Fate – it meant nothing to him. Everything was chance, a gamble, nothing was truly meant to be. Above all, he didn't believe in love. It was just as much a game and a gamble as anything else. He asked, politely, "What would it be that you need help with?"

"I'd love to work for the Prophet."

Draco gave her a smile, which was rather generous, he felt, and said, "I have no influence on who gets hired or not. I didn't know you were a journalist too."

"Oh, I'm not, I'm a freelance writer," Vivian said excitedly, "Vivian Crowe? I've had my stories printed before. Maybe you've heard of me, too!"

Draco shook his head, "Sorry, no. I don't really read other papers."

"I've been in a few books, too, short story anthologies. I guess you don't read much," She looked seriously disappointed.

"Next?" The teller at the counter called out.

"Sorry, that's me, I guess I'll be..." Draco was trying to part from her.

"Can you give this into the Prophet at least?" Vivian thrust out a sheet of paper to him. It was folded into quarters. He took it, and before he could once again insist that he had nothing to do with who was hired or not, she was off, waving goodbye to them, her silver bracelets shimmering. He watched her walk out of the store and down the street away from the bookstore.

"Why'd she call you Mr. Breeler?" Katie questioned.

"It's my pen name," Draco replied. He put the book on the counter and sighed as he handed over the money for it. "Take it," he thrust the book into her arms and then walked towards the door, expecting her to follow.

"Why do you have a pretend name?" She asked.

"Come on," Draco could see people looking up in interest, familiar with the name Brom Breeler. "So that I can have a private life," Draco said quickly, and pushed Katie out the door and onto the street. She shuffled the book from one hand to the next, examining it's front and back cover.

"Well?"

"Thanks," She squinted against the sun, for it was to his back, and she was trying to look at his face.

He nodded to himself, making a mental note to never have children, for any reason. The Malfoy line could die out with him, for all he cared. He didn't want any more manipulative devils in his home. He had enough to deal with in the work room.

**&&&&&&&&&**

After Katie had been picked up from the Malfoy's front porch, Draco sat at his desk and tried to piece together a story again. His eyes kept clouding over with sleep, but he already had a paragraph going. It was a dull topic, writing about how old grandmothers gather in the park and have been doing so since they were in their twenties, watching their children, then grandchildren, grow up, always meeting in the same place and knitting. It was supposed to be heart-warming, but Draco didn't _do _heart-warming. At most he did heart-room temperature. He couldn't write very convincingly; he didn't know how to make the reader care for the characters he wrote about. _He _didn't give a hoot about these four grannies, each with a foot in the grave. He swore softly, then cursed loudly, and soon was pacing his room pulling at his hair angrily.

"FUCK!" He shouted out the window at the empty street. The Malfoy mansion had a paved path of at least a mile from the front door to the front gate; winding across hilly terrain, dotted with trees, foliage and fancy flowers.

He sighed and sank into his chair again, agitated. His eyes scanned the last sentence, and he took his pencil and crossed it out. His pencil kept moving, his hand as if possessed, crossing out the entire paragraph. He continued scribbling until it looked like a giant tumbleweed, then a tornado, and finally it was just a sheen gray rectangle.

Rose paused in his doorway, "Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sorry." Rose often still scolded him as if he was a child. They had Rose for so many years now – she was hired by his father's parents when Lucius was still a teenager. Rose partially reared Lucius and she had a big hand in raising, or rather _spoiling_, Draco.

"A mouth like that doesn't belong on such a handsome face, dear," Rose came in and looked at the mess of papers strewn all over the room, "The muse has died?"

"I never had a muse to begin with," Draco cried out, "Luckily I don't have a deadline, but my career does. If I don't make this story work, I won't get any more stories."

"What're you writing about?"

"About those old ladies that hang out in the local park."

"Oh, those ladies," Rose nodded, for she had often chatted with them while pushing Draco around in a fancy stroller through the park, "Did something happen to them?" She looked alarmed, knowing the sorts of stories Draco dealt with.

"No, they're fine, better than fine for a bunch of old - - elders," Draco dodged calling them old farts, because Rose was their age, too.

"A new sort of assignment then?" Rose asked.

"I told you just a few days ago, Rose," Draco turned in his chair and faced her, troubled, "I told you I had to write one of those ridiculous morale-raising columns, something _perky _and _happy._"

"Did you?" She nodded to herself, "Must have slipped my mind."

A sinking feeling pulled on Draco's stomach and heart, until he could almost feel them in his intestines; Rose was getting old too. Just like all those grandmothers had a foot in the grave, so did she. Perhaps even both her feet now. Rose would die soon, and she was the only servant they had kept; the rest they had laid off because of the upcoming move.

Rose left the room as quietly as she had come.

Draco put his forehead against the cool surface of the desk and waited for the muse he never had to begin with. His mind couldn't _do _this, he couldn't _make _this assignment work. He didn't know anyone that was cheery enough to write the kind of piece he had to write.

Except Vivian.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Hehehe... I'm not going to say who the person behind the Vivian character is, what gender they really are, whether they are really pureblood or Mudblood, _very _minor character or one of the more major cast members. There's dozens of possibilities, isn't there? I tried for an odder pairing... maybe it's really crazy and shocking, maybe not, nobody knows other than me what I'm up to... Hehehe, but I'm almost done with the story at chapter 14, and I made it a long, twisted story indeed.

**Chapter Three**

Draco unfolded the piece of paper Vivian had handed to him. It was a basic resume, with her name (Vivian Crowe), age (18) and address (an apartment), and then a list of references and places her written work had appeared. Draco recognized a few periodicals he would read inside the rather impressively long list.

He was sitting in the café, waiting for Vivian to show herself. He couldn't believe he was going to do this – to actually ask someone _else _to write a story for him. He couldn't have felt more ashamed of himself, but he just couldn't write this story. He needed someone with a cheerful and loving tone, someone that could make an otherwise sappy and flowery story into a piece that you'd read, clip from the paper, and put inside a diary to keep forever; something that would _touch _the reader inside.

It was nearing seven in the morning. Just as Draco began to fold Vivian's resume back up, he saw her enter the café. She was dressed oddly, as usual; but this time her lips were natural-colored and her makeup was lighter. She was rather good-looking, something Draco didn't notice as much before, behind all the sharp makeup. Her lips pointed upwards in two sharp little peaks on the top and her bottom lip was fuller and rounded itself like a slightly flattened half-moon, tucking in just before the upper lip ended. She had large brown eyes that peeked out from beneath overgrown bangs.

"Vivian," he said.

She looked up and immediately rushed to his table, sitting herself across from him. " Mr. Breeler!" She smiled brightly, seeing that he was holding her resume, "Did I get accepted? Nobody's contacted me."

"Actually, ah... I haven't given them your resume yet," Draco said uneasily.

"Oh, that's alright," Vivian said quickly, "I didn't mean to make it seem like I had to have it done _now_, there's no rush, really, I've got Witch's Weekly to write for, and..."

Draco cut her off, " I need _your_ help first."

"Pardon?"

"You asked me to help you get your job. I need you to help me keep mine."

She squinted at him, " I don't understand."

"You see, I've been assigned to do a report on something happy, moral, thoughtful – I've never written anything like it. We've got a new head of the paper, Mrs. Kampf, and she's absolutely insane. She's making us balance tragic, frightening, _exciting _stories with stories about the home, the neighborhood – trying to soften people a little. It's an insane liberal idea and I _hate _it, and now that it's my turn to do my part in this whole scheme, I can't do it."

She nodded, "So you want me to write it for you?"

Draco swallowed, " If you could. It seems like something you could do."

Vivian grinned, " Are you serious?"

"Yes?" He didn't know what to expect. She might suddenly laugh at him and say she had no intention to help him cheat his way into keeping his job; she might take him up for his offer; she might demand additional favors from him.

"You think _my _writing could come off as something Brom Breeler would write?" Her eyes were shimmering now, "That's _such _a compliment! Of course I'd do it!"

He sighed in relief, " Good. I have an idea for a story, those old ladies that sit around in the park, something touching about them seeing their children and grandchildren grow before their eyes."

"You don't like children," She reminded herself, "Not exactly a piece for you, this story."

"Precisely. I'm not fond of old people, either. Or senseless cheer."

"Mmm."

"What?"

Her eyes were crafty now, like a cat's. She turned her lips into a smile, very slowly, her eyes staring into his, "I have another favor to ask of you, then. Other than handing in my resume."

"What's that?"

"That you'll come out for dinner with me sometime."

Draco had fortunately worn a white shirt with black pants this time, but it had apparently not done the trick. She was still attracted to him somehow, and though he knew he was good-looking, he figured that she would have gotten the message that he didn't really like her or want to have much to do with her, past the small favors they asked of each other.

"I don't understand. _Why_?" Draco pictured a shady little restaurant, with Vivian and him discussing in hushed voices how to make the column work. Perhaps she just wanted to talk business, talk about her chances of getting a job, or about what it was like to work for the Prophet.

"You look like you're really sad," She said gently, "I want to get you out of the house." She saw his put off expression and added, "Maybe you have a girlfriend! I guess you wouldn't go then, because it would look really bad, wouldn't it? Maybe I'm guessing wrong, you could be the happiest chap in England, I don't know..." She had a tendency to carry on when she was upset about something.

"No, I don't have a girlfriend," Draco said, finally. "I suppose an evening out wouldn't hurt."

"You can bring Katie if you like. I don't mean this in a romantic way. Just a friendly outing, alright?" Vivian patted his hand with her warm fingers.

"Oh, she doesn't live with me, it's really chance whether she is or isn't with me, I just watch her sometimes," Draco explained. Then he added, processing the second part of her sentence, "Of course this is just a...a _friendly _outing. I'm certainly not interested." There, he had said it.

He had almost expected at least a bit of hurt to cross her face, but there was none. She just grinned again, nodded, and whipped out a purse, pulling out her belongings.

"What're you ...?"

She found a plain white index card inside it and a pen. She scrawled on it, **Vivian, 5:00 p.m., Friday, Meet at Café**. She handed it to him. " We'll meet here this Friday. That's the night I have open."

"Alright. We'll stay here?"

"No, I'll take you someplace. You won't find it on your own."

He imagined the eerie smoke-filled restaurant again and shuddered internally. "Alright, I'll see you then."

"Great," Vivian continued to sit beside him, however.

Draco thought that after they'd finish talking business, she'd leave. Instead, she looked as if she intended to spend the rest of his time in the café with him. This girl obviously had no sense to her, no ability to read people; couldn't she tell that he didn't want to chat? Draco _never_ chatted. It was busy work for the mouth. He could say in a sentence what would take Vivian an entire conversation to get around to. That was how he was.

The waitress came up to their table and Draco ordered his coffee with cream and white chocolate shavings. She ordered the apple-cinnamon oatmeal, then took out a magazine.

_At least she'll keep quiet_, he thought to himself, and felt as if he could even enjoy the morning, if she'd keep quiet enough. She was pleasant to look at and he wasn't that much a loner to be averse to any sort of company.

Yet, it wasn't to be, apparently.

"They published my favorite story," She said seconds after opening the magazine.

"How nice," Draco said musingly.

The waitress returned, set down Draco's coffee and Vivian's oatmeal, and then waited as they both paid separately. Vivian continued the conversation as the waitress left, "I got paid very little for it, less than usual, but it's an honor. My favorite story, you know. My first one I wrote, that's why."

"I see." He wouldn't have asked why, and he certainly wasn't glad that she went on to tell him so.

He finished his coffee quickly and stood.

"When do you want the story?" Vivian asked.

"When I meet you for dinner?" He suggested.

"Fabulous, thank you," She grinned.

He didn't smile back. He nodded goodbye to her and left, feeling somewhat confused. She was far too cheerful for him, it was overbearing – as if someone had opened his mind and started pouring sugar in, to the point where he could barely handle it. It had been a while since he'd really mixed with people of his age, other than at work; Draco was a loner and liked to work privately, on his own time, without anyone around him. He figured his parents would eventually find him a girl due to his lack of interest.

He knew he wasn't gay, that was far from it, but he was not interested nevertheless, as he had always been. Draco preferred it that way. Now that there was a random girl mixed up into his life, he realized with some bitterness how long it has been since he had dated. Of course, it was a silly think to reflect on as he was still single, and Vivian was not looking to date him. He hoped not, anyway, for he would certainly turn her down. Nobody in their right minds could be so upbeat. It would drive him insane.

Draco walked all the way home thinking these thoughts. By the time he reached his door, a deep autumnal rain was pouring. He stepped into his home, took off his shoes and left them on the mat that was beside the doorway for the very purpose of holding dirty shoes, and then stood there for no reason at all.

He simply stood, leaning against the half-empty door, staring at the water beginning to puddle through the entrance doorway, looking rather forlorn.

Only a few minutes later, when Rose came up to him and asked if he was hungry, did he come out of his unusual trance.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Thursday came slowly, as Draco no longer had a story to work on and had nothing to do but lounge around his home or take prolonged walks around the neighborhood. He avoided the café for three days in a row, to minimize his exposure to Vivian. Something about her confused him and he didn't want to keep being confronted by her, endlessly puzzling over whatever it was that confounded him.

Thursday afternoon, Katie was dropped off at his home again, this time until late evening, George assured. Draco led her upstairs and left her in her room with a 1,000 piece puzzle and two children's books that he had found hidden away in his closet. One was strictly about dragons, going into great depth about every aspect of dragon rearing, dragons in the wild and in captivity. He had loved the book, though it was rather simple and consisted mostly of fine illustrations with captions beneath them.

He would never admit it to anyone, but when he found it (he had been looking for books with Katie in mind, as he figured himself too boring to amuse her alone) he had taken it and opened the cover and started to read it again. After the first page, he was hooked, and he slowly sat himself at the foot of his four-poster bed and indulged his mind with page after page of his childhood.

By the time he reached the last page, he had tears in his eyes, which he didn't even want to begin to explain. He remembered how he bought the book at a store that was long gone from Hogsmeade, and how Narcissa would read it to him until he'd fall asleep. Together they read it at least four or five times front-to-cover before he moved on to another book. Draco could picture his mother now, turning the book to face him, showing the pictures. He had to be seven or eight.

He had few memories as fond as this one. He had closed the book and transported it to Katie's room – as she stayed in it almost as much as the rest of the residents of the Malfoy mansion did – leaving it on her desk.

Now, the day after, he stood in the doorway of Katie's room. The only reason he was stuck here was because Katie, too, was standing rigidly in the doorway.

"Well? Go on in," Draco prompted. He wanted to read the paper, for his morning routine of getting the paper and reading it in the café had been interrupted and he had to pick it up in the evening from a newspaper stand instead; therefore burdening his schedule in the evenings with having to find some time to read it.

"I don't want to," She grumbled.

"Why?"

"It's boring!" She whined.

"I found some books," Draco offered.

"So?" Katie bounded across the room on her thin little legs and looked at both books carefully. "Bo - - ring." She stretched the 'o' for a good six seconds.

"No it isn't," Draco stammered angrily an instant later, but caught himself – what was he getting excited for over some children's books? – and added, "It'll expand your mind a little."

"I don't want to expand my mind," Katie jumped onto the bed, despite all the times Draco told her not to jump on the bed. She hopped twice, then fell on her behind on it and threw a pillow at him, "Pillow fight!"

The pillow bounced from his hip and fell to the floor, a feather escaping the slip it was in and clinging to Draco's pants. He stared at Katie, hoping she could see in his eyes how much he detested her, then said, " You throw something across this room again and you're going to have to spend the evening with _me_, and trust me, _that's _boring."

Katie seemed eager to take him up on his offer, and before Draco could back down from his threat, she threw the second book, a half-finished coloring book, at him.

"Get down off the bed," Draco hissed.

She stood on it and grinned defiantly.

"You're ten years old, you're too old for this," Draco muttered, rubbing his temples. _And I'm too young to care about some snot-nosed little brat_, he thought angrily, his nostrils flaring. He pulled a few strands of pale hair behind his left ear and walked over to the bed and grasped Katie's arm firmly, but not violently; it wouldn't hurt but it gave him a sense of control over her.

He pulled her down off the bed and onto the floor.

"Pick up the pillow," He instructed gravely.

She did, hitting him in the rear with it as she walked by, and then threw it onto the bed from a meter away. He decided not to comment, but said instead, " You're going to stay with me in the library for a good hour or two as I read the paper."

"Good," Katie declared.

"Why?"

"I'll find something to do then, we could talk," She responded.

"No, you don't understand. I'll be reading, _not_ talking."

"You can't ignore me," She threatened.

"I could, too," Draco quarreled.

"Prove it," Her nose wrinkled in excitement at this new game she found, of aggravating her cousin.

Draco took her arm and led her from the room. "I don't understand why your father can't just finalize this divorce, what's taking so long?" Draco said, quite unsympathetic to Katie's family. "Who do you want to live with?"

"Both of them," She said softly.

He frowned and kept walking. He wasn't good at consoling anybody, especially not children. As they neared the staircase, he managed to say, "You know it'll be hard to do that once they move as far apart as they can from each other, you know? Unless your new home will have a _really _long hallway."

Katie giggled.

Draco stared at her coldly, but no longer with indifference. He felt an odd pang of sympathy unlike his previous feeling of responsibility to be kind. After all, he felt he was losing a parent as well. His own father was slowly slipping away (and at that very moment upstairs, crumpling papers, putting them in a wastebasket, then unfurling them and putting them on his desk, back and forth, for the past hour).

"What?"

"Just thinking," He said finally.

They walked down the stairs. Halfway through he loosened his hold on her hand, at the bottom of the staircase he had let her go completely.

"Your fingers are really cold," Katie criticized him.

"I have a long body and a little heart," He joked, "And it's made out of stone."

She grinned again, her eyes shimmering. She looked really happy – too happy – and suddenly he realized that the glow in her eyes were tears rather than mirth. He put a hand on her shoulder awkwardly, "Don't cry, if you rub a stone long enough it turns into a diamond. My fingers are cold because I keep rubbing it. It's becoming shiny," He kidded on, haplessly, his lips and mouth working against his mind. Somewhere deep within, he truly felt like making her stop crying, even though outwardly and in his logical thoughts he was unwilling and uninterested.

Katie pressed a fist to her right eye and wiped angrily, "Mom's been sending Dad owls, Howlers. One came in the middle of the night and woke me up. She was swearing in it and everything. He sends them back, too, I hear him shrieking at our owl. Poor Gulliver," Tears tumbled down her face.

Draco stooped over her, as she barely reached the middle of his chest, and handed her a handkerchief. She cried into it for a few minutes as they walked towards the library. He didn't know what to say and he felt he had exhausted most of his love and kindness for humanity with the cheering-up he had tried to do.

He pushed open the doorway to the library and sat himself down comfortably on the couch. He had expected Katie would take the childish, silver and green beanbag chair in the corner of the room, but she sat right next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. There was a giant scab on the left one.

"What's that from?" Draco asked curiously.

"Oh," She looked at her leg as if she was seeing it for the first time, then said, " Fell off my broom."

"Playing Quidditch?"

"Yeah. I want to be on the team next year at Hogwarts," She confessed in a hushed tone, "I've been practicing alone to do all sorts of things, like ducking and dodging and tail spins, even though my Mom doesn't even know I _have_ a broom. Dad bought it."

"So maybe you'd rather be with George," Draco said.

"No, because my mother gets me gifts too. They're trying to buy me over somehow," Katie explained, "It's getting really silly. Almost every day, someone gives me a gift. And most of the days that I stay here are days I'm supposed to be at my Mom's, but she moved into this teeny apartment for the time being until she buys herself a home away from Dad."

"I see," He sighed.

"Did you play Quidditch?"

"Did I!" Draco said excitedly, "I became captain for Slytherin sixth year. That's when I got my first and last girlfriend too, a Slytherin fourth year. She'd come and cheer for me in the stands and get really red whenever I'd look at her."

"That's cute," She said.

Draco gesticulated wildly, showing his hand, his own self on a broom, zooming and then, pinkie extended, grasping the Snitch, "I caught it a record three times that year."

"Awesome," She tucked her legs beneath her behind now, resting on her heels. " What about your girlfriend? Tell me about her."

"Eh," his enthusiasm faded greatly, "Her name was Clara."

"What did she look like?"

"Reddish-brown hair to her shoulders, blue eyes. Half Irish, half British. She had really bad teeth as far as I remember, though."

"Did you kiss her?"

"No," Draco said, then suddenly realized he'd never _had_ his first kiss, other than a joking kiss as a toddler to a cousin or a friend. He chose not to say it, for it was the first time in many months that he had even come across such a thought. He never felt the lack of a woman in his life; he was very good at keeping a schedule every day, day after day, doing the same things to amuse himelf.

"No?" She asked, then laughed.

"I didn't feel like it," he admitted half-heartedly.

"Why not?"

"I didn't like her that much, not like she liked me," he responded.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," he said finally, "Just wasn't as interested. I was doing really well in all my subjects at the time and I was trying to focus on that, and on Quidditch. All that mess with You-Know-Who really got in the way as well," he confessed, "we broke up at the start of seventh year. It was too hard for me to keep a relationship. Always busy."

"That stinks," She grumbled, "What about other girlfriends?"

"Oh, you know, just an odd one here or there," he lied, not knowing why. For the first time it felt a little shameful, and here he was opening his heart to a ten-year-old girl! He turned and grasped his paper, "And now, as I said, I'll be reading."

"Aww," Katie said, "You were beginning to be _fun_."

"Thank Merlin that I stopped in time," Draco said, then touched his chest, "still stone."

"Nah. It's probably this big bleedy mess," She murmured.

"Wonderful," Draco responded, "I'm a big bleedy mess inside."

"And all your organs gushing stuff back and forth," Katie divulged.

"Where'd you get this nonsense from?" Draco gave her a fierce glare.

"An anatomy book Mom got me," She smirked, "It had all these illustrations of everything. _Everything,_" she flushed a little.

Draco rolled his eyes and slowly begin to lose himself in the Sports Pages.

"Draco," She tugged on his sleeve, "Keep talking, you're kind of cool once you get into the groove."

"I'm reading," He said, "That's what I came here to do. You said you'd talk, and I believe _I'm _all talked out. So you can go talk to that beanbag chair and I'll find out whether Poland's Quidditch team won against our national team."

She slid off the couch and left the room and came back a few minutes later with the two books Draco found for her. She mumbled under her breath critically for a few minutes but soon lost herself in the pages and pages of stories, informative passages, and pictures on dragons. Draco looked up after a half-hour or so and felt almost envious. He didn't realize how quickly people grew up until he was an adult himself. He never really enjoyed his childhood as much as he could have; he had more enemies than friends and his closest comrades, Crabbe and Goyle, were miles behind him mentally. He was used to dealing with life on his own.

Katie glanced up at the same time and her eyes caught his. "The Russian black-winged one, this one," she lifted the page, "lays eggs the size of watermelons. Weird."

He nodded to himself and didn't feel the need to reply. He felt somewhat satisfied having the fact read back to him, after reading it the night before. A childish thought, _I knew that before you, ha!_, emerged in his mind, but he didn't tease her. He wasn't a child anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Gary Skinner, your story idea about Draco being stuck without magic all of a sudden is a great idea and I'll try to craft a story from it after this story... sadly there's very little reviews, but I'm hoping it'll grow in number if I keep adding chapters... sigh

**Chapter Four**

Draco woke with a dreadful feeling in his stomach on Friday morning. He stood, stretched, dressed, then sat at his desk, thinking of how wrong his evening with Vivian could get. He couldn't fathom the extent of her friendliness and interest in him and apparently all mankind as well. What if she placed her hand on his shoulder, or knee, like friendly people do? Or rest against him? Draco disliked touching too much; when he grew up Narcissa and Lucius rarely showed Draco their love physically, like through hugs and kisses. At Hogwarts, Draco would ridicule students that kissed and hugged in greeting or parting. He certainly found it offensive and infringing on his personal space. Vivian might as well have put her finger in his mouth or ear forcibly; he'd be just as annoyed with the physical contact.

His imagination had taken a strong turn for the worse; he could now picture over five situations that would lead Draco to run from the restaurant, screaming. With much dismay, he noticed he'd slept until almost noon, leaving him with even less time until his appointment with Vivian. He had stayed up late into the night, unable to sleep for no reason at all. He suspected it came from all the chatting, friendliness and emotionality that had happened with Katie. He was exhausted from it, as they hadn't originally been in his evening plan. It began to disappoint him and his opinion of himself; he was growing too soft. He liked to keep his distance, make friends with people he felt were beneath him intelligent-wise so that he could predict them and their behaviors, and so that they never surprised him. Crabbe and Goyle still visited Draco sometimes, and Draco enjoyed seeing that they hadn't changed much. He enjoyed that sort of stability.

The clock in his room now showed half past noon, and Draco was still sitting at his desk, thumbing aimlessly through the papers on his desk, lost in thought.

His thoughts were interrupted as Lucius appeared in the doorway.

"Father?" He said softly.

"Draco, Draco," he said, as he was going through some new psychotic stage that required him to echo part of all of what he said.

Lucius walked into the room and patted his son's head, his fingers sliding across Draco's smooth, sleep hair.

Draco's stomach twisted and turned, not from the touch itself but from the fact it was his father; that somewhere in his delusional mind he still recognized Draco as his son, and that he loved him.

"What is it?" Draco asked him.

Lucius put his hand to Draco's cheek. His hand trembled so badly Draco could feel it against his skin.

Draco turned his head away from the touch, suddenly overcome with how useless, ruined, and completely vulnerable Lucius had become.

"Rose is cooking – is cooking. She took my saucers away. Saucers."

"OH," Draco said. _Oh?_

Lucius left the room after that, and Draco paced his room, from his bed to bureau, disturbed; finally he grasped the family portrait on his bureau, yanked out the photograph of his family, stared at it – he was in between his mother and father – and threw it into the drawer of his desk that he rarely used.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

When Draco arrived promptly on time at the café, he noted with some irritationon that Vivian wasn't there. He sat down, ordered his usual coffee, and waited. At 5:10, Vivian walked in and surprised him by speaking from behind, "Hello!"

He turned and stood up, "You're late," he reminded her, and waited vainly for an apology.

"Bah, time", she crooned, and smiled athim, "Ready to go?"

He nodded, "Where to?" He could picture some dirty, smoke-filed room with everyone pale and draped in black, swaying to ridiculous new age music.

"It's a secret, I bet you've never been there," She confirmed his suspicion.

"I haven't been anywhere, really," Draco admitted, though it wasn't true; he would often stroll the neighborhood and stop in at various places, familiarizing himself with his surrounding. He had also been in some awful places, like a tavern about a mile's walk from his home, where he, Crabbe and Goyle celebrated his eighteenth birthday with pint after pint, until he found himself vomiting and scrambling home through neighbor's yards. He fell into someone's artificial pond, he recalled with some distaste. He drank now and then, and got drunk once in a while, but never that bad or that far from home. He could have easily teleported himself, but he was too drunk to remember most of the incantation, and when he finally recalled it his voice was too slurred and he just ended up singing his clothes.

"Come on, let's go," Vivian said, half-criticizing, half-playful.

Draco realized that once again he had to down his entire coffee in a quick few gulps, taking away almost all the satisfaction. He gulped it down anyway and followed Vivian outside.

It was fresh and cool outdoors, the sun still in the sky but ready to begin to set. Vivian looked around herself as she walked, leading the way about two steps ahead of him. She took a few turns, turns that Draco didn't take on his walks, or hadn't taken in a while.

"It's close now," She told him, "Maybe five or ten more minutes. Don't feel like talking?"

"Not especially," Draco admitted.

"You're a loner," Vivian assessed.

Draco didn't reply. _I know_ sounded too presumptuous about himself, _I'm sorry _wasn't what he felt, and _what's it to you? _was far too quarrelsome.

Vivian breathed in the crisp air and sighed it out, "It will feel nice to start talking, _really _talking, some day."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

She turned and gave him a disgruntled look over her shoulder, "It'll be a relief to get all your problems out, that's what!"

"I don't have any problems," Draco said.

"How long have you been single?"

"I never said I was single."

"You are, I can tell. I can smell the bachelorhood in you," Her smile couldn't have been more devilish, "How long?"

"That's none of your business!" He said, absolutely aghast.

"It's been a while then," Vivian turned back around.

"How about you? Dating anyone?"

"Not for a few weeks now."

"Broke up?" He asked, hoping to strike at her privacy as she hit on his. It didn't bother her at all though, not even a fraction as much as her questions bothered Draco.

"Yeah. I broke it off," She threw a few strands of black hair over her shoulder. He noticed that she had very long hair, almost to her waist, something he hadn't noticed, because she had it cut shorter in front, so that when she put her hair in a bun, choppy pieces of hair to her shoulders hung out from it in the front, creating the illusion of much shorter hair. He paid attention to her sleek black hair, trying to act as if she didn't bother him. Yet her presence alone seemed to irk him.

"I made you uncomfortable," Vivian added, stating the obvious for the pleasure of it, he guessed, "I'm sorry, I'm a pretty open person about things. You can ask anything, I'll reply."

He wondered what would be extremely invasive. _Are you a virgin? When did you first get your period? Do you have pubic hair or do you shave?_ He couldn't imagine asking any of those. Perhaps years ago, making fun of Hermione Granger, he could have spat something like that at her, to humiliate her, but he had grown a little since then; he had enough pride and Malfoy dignity to keep from doing so.

"Nothing to ask?" Vivian said. She paused mid-step until he caught up with her. She watched his face closely, though she was eye-level with his shoulder.

"Curiosity killed the cat," He warned.

"There'd be no cat if a certain momma and father cat weren't too curious," She laughed.

He couldn't help but smile, coolly.

"That's the first time I've seen you smile," Vivian commented, "You've got to be the most melancholy person in the world."

"You're the most _cheerful _person I've ever met," Draco said, making cheerful sound as if it were a bad thing, for to him it was. It made him suspicious of someone, it made them unpredictable, as he hadn't dealt with such a person for a long time, if not ever.

"Does it bother you that much?"

"It's like having needles pricked into me sometimes," He countered with equal honesty.

"You don't hide it, either," She said, "Must've been born allergic. Or maybe you realized you have a fatal STD."

"What?"

"Life. Get it? A fatal sexually transmitted disease? Ha-ha?"

"Ha-ha," He said, caught off guard again. He wouldn't be surprised if she suddenly threw herself on him and kissed him; she was absolutely ridiculous. What was he doing walking to some unknown place with an almost stranger, who spent her time bantering and picking away at his reserved, guarded self? He wanted to mug her, get that story off of her, and run for his life.

"What's your family like?" She asked finally, "Maybe you're more likely to talk about that."

He narrowed his eyes so that he was looking at her through a fan of long blonde lashes, " My mother and father are both really proud people. We come from a really long line of purebloods, the M... Breelers," He said, sticking to his pen name. She didn't have to know what his name was, he liked the anonymity even more. She would never get the chance to say she'd been out with a Malfoy for dinner – she could possibly be a Mudblood! He hadn't even asked yet! – she could say she did a Malfoy's work, wrote a _story _for him. A Malfoy wouldn't stand for that. A Breeler would. That is how Draco justified it in his mind.

"I see. I've got a lot of brothers and a sister. My dad's just retired, he tinkers around at home, building stuff, inventing, trying to get a hang of hand-crafting things like Muggles do. My mom's the typical housewife."

"Mmm..."

"You're pureblood, then."

"Yes."

"Me too."

"Okay."

"Just in case you were fretting about talking to a _Mudblood_," She teased.

"I wasn't," Draco lied.

"You were, I could see the question run across your face the moment you said you were a pureblood!"

Draco felt his ears warm, and he realized he was blushing, "You're - - I can't stand you sometimes, I don't _get _you."

"Oh, I won't even pretend I am beginning to get _you,_" Vivian retorted.

"What do you mean? I'm _normal_, I don't waltz into people's lives and ask strangers to dinner, and pick away at their private life, and, and..." He was wasting his breath, he thought, but he was unraveling, his sentence flowing not from his mind but from his vocal chords and tongue, his very thoughts coming out before he could think about them. Why did she frustrate him so much!

"And?"

"And wear crazy all-black outfits and army boots, and go around smiling like you're God's gift to humanity," Draco fumed, "You're too happy, its unsettling, you're so eager and hyper and honest it makes me sick in the stomach, and I can't predict you, and I hate that. I like predicting people. I like being sure of everything that everyone will do, ahead of time, and plan things out just to be sure things stay in check."

"_You're _the loony one then," Vivian said, calmly, "You've cut yourself from the world, I can tell you're a hermit, a loner. You've got a lot to say I bet, but your mind's filtering it all so that none of it comes out of your mouth. You're reserving yourself for no reason at all, unless it's some sort of haughtiness, some sort of excessive _pride_. You can't be nice, you can't break a smile even or you nearly fall apart. You don't care, you don't seem to know how to love, you don't appreciate the world around you. Go out! Taste life! Experience!"

"Hippie," He murmured.

"Hermit," She countered.

"You're rude," He added.

"And you aren't?"

He felt like laughing all of a sudden, and he did, softly. He shook his head and gave her, for once, a rather merry look, "If this is the way we're handling this even _before _we've arrived at the restaurant, or wherever, I don't want to know how the rest of the evening will go. They'll toss us out into the alley, like brawling drunks."

"Don't worry, I'm not a fighter," She said.

"You're wrong, by the way," Draco said.

"About you?"

"About me not loving, anyway."

"Who do you love?"

"My mother. My father. Rose, a little, our housekeeper."

"That's people you're _supposed _to love, that doesn't count. How about friends? Any girls? Maybe boys!"

"I'm not gay!" He exclaimed, "I – I've loved."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't know her," Draco said.

"Oh, you old prude, tell me about it," Vivian grinned in delight, "Maybe there's a secret, passionate side to you, and you're not telling me."

"I'm about as passionate as a table leg."

"Come on!"

"It was nothing, it was just a girlfriend, don't worry about it," Draco dodged what would otherwise had been a stream of lies through his lips.

"So ask me some questions then," She offered.

"What makes you so happy?"

"Life. After I left school, I thought, _hell,_ I've only got a certain amount of years before I get so old and unattractive my eyes will be wrinkled shut from laugh lines and I'll be tucking my breasts into my pantyhose. I wanted to live and experience things, to rebel, to be a little wacky. My family doesn't get it, except maybe two of my brothers."

"So it's about tasting life as much as possible before you kick the proverbial bucket?" Draco asked.

"You could say that. There's so much more to it though. Have you ever talked to a really old person that's sitting outside a store about everything and nothing? About them growing up, and how things have changed?"

"Not as far as I remember, no. I wouldn't care to talk to them."

"You're sheltered. You don't know what's out there."

"You're naïve. What's out there is only pretty when it's sleeping with it's teeth turned to the wall. The world is waiting to eat people like you alive, reality will be like a slap in the face."

"We're here," Vivian said, stopping in front of a plain-looking building with a sign reading, **Taste of Poetry**. "See, I got you talking. I got you thinking. You can't tell me this evening was a total waste as of yet."

"No, but it might have been, I still stand on the same position as before. I think order is nice, not chaos. I like plans, I like being cold and distant because people _hurt _you, and because life can throw in random cards if you don't learn to duck the possibility of a random card coming up."

"Doesn't matter, at least I got you talking. You don't have to agree with me. You'll probably never agree with me. But at least you've thought about it. It'll keep you up at night, you'll see."

"It won't," Draco said, even though deep conversations have kept him up for hours just this week.

Vivian pushed the door open, "Come in, it's interesting in here."

Draco hesitated.

"Come in or I won't give you your story."

"I will. Hold on a second. He pawed his pants and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and told her, "Let me smoke something first." He wanted to calm his frayed nerves as quickly as possible. He smoked a pack every two weeks.

"You get agitated so easily. You really are out of practice with randomness in life." Vivian gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.

His back tingled where her hand touched. He didn't like it.

"Smoking's terrible for you. You should know by now," She criticized.

"Everything's bad for you. Everything will kill you, in one way or another. Might as well never leave the house because you could trip over a bloody stone and knock yourself from this world into the next."

She laughed, "See, now we're debating for real. Your viewpoint versus mine. This is fun."

"You're crazy," He said, breathing out a puff of smoke.

"So are you. That's the beauty of life. Craziness layered upon craziness."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Since I want Vivian to be a surprise until the end, I'll throw in some more twisted little things... she could be anyone, she could be impersonating anyone, she could be flat out lying about a lot of things, or even crazy and ready for St. Mungo's. Who knows. I'm mad as a tea cozy to keep going on and on about this... I'm rolling my eyes at myself for throwing all this in, because I can see how twisted it could get, what sort of oddities/characters Vivian could be in the end! I already know but I can't wait.

**Chapter Five**

After finishing his cigarette, throwing it to the ground, stepping on it, and then clearing his throat, Draco entered the restaurant. He was immediately calmed by seeing that it was a typical restaurant, from the mirrors and paintings on the walls to the booths and tables, with small vases of flowers on each table. Vivian saw his expression and said, " It's not as boring as it looks."

"Great, do ninjas somersault out the kitchen door, or something?" He saw nothing exciting otherwise about the place.

The patrons of the restaurant, scattered across the dining area, were mostly dressed in black, but they weren't dour and mournful as he would suspect. Rather, they were all having lively discussions, dining and laughing.

Vivian led him to a booth and he slid in on one side, and she on the other, across from him. He looked around shyly, trying to make sure that there were no familiar faces in the restaurant.

"You look like a pervert, glancing at people over your shoulder like that," She pointed out to him.

"Maybe I am a pervert," He grumbled, "You didn't even know me and you asked me to dinner."

"You don't know _me_ or if I even write decently, but you asked me to write in your name."

"It's an _honor_ to write as Brom Breeler," Draco said pompously.

"It's an honor to get to eat dinner with me. I have quite a social agenda," but she added, honestly nice again, "You probably don't get out much."

He looked her straight in the eye, wondering if she wanted to take him on as some charity case, being his "only friend", "poor fellow" and all. If so, she was deluding herself for his life was nothing to pity and he didn't want her help. He replied, smoothly, "I choose to keep company with someone I love only."

"Who?"

"Me."

"You're really vain, either for serious or not. Either way you're pretty unfriendly, so no wonder you're always solo."

"How am I not friendly? I say hello and thank you and goodbye."

"That's not friendliness, it's politeness," She looked up at him, for she had been surveying the menu, "Pick something, a waiter will be here any minute now."

Draco opened up the menu and could see why it was **Taste of Poetry**. Every piece of food had a label underneath it with 2 to 4 words on it. The diner was encouraged to pick a meal and use all the words they collected from all the foods they chose to form a poem. Poetry could be judged by the waiter or waitress, and anything from a free drink to 10 off came as a reward for unique poems.

Draco picked a baked potato, a tomato and onion salad, a dinner roll, roast chicken breast and green tea.

His words were as follows,

Wind

Far

Mountain

Icy

Child

Rosy

Pink

Smell

Turn

Drawn

Doze

Eyes

Desire

He looked up at Vivian, puzzled.

"You can change tenses and add words like and, or, because, in, over, and you don't have to use them all," She smiled, "Have fun."

"What're your words?" DRaco asked.

"I'm not telling," She said slyly. The waiter took their orders as a pair – Draco realized that she'd probably expect him to pay or something – and then disappeared.

"Never heard of this place," Draco said finally.

"It's mostly known among the artistic folk."

"Goths?"

She frowned, "I'm not... _that_. I do as I wish and I express myself with how I look. And I do wear color," She gestured at her green and yellow striped tights under her black skirt.

"So you try to represent that you're a colorblind mime?"

"No; that I'm creative, messy, artistic, chaotic, _free_."

"Everyone's _free_."

"Not like me."

"Everyone's an individual."

She smiled, "Wow, your first positive thought. Let's celebrate," She took her drink, a glass of chocolate milk, off the waiter's tray, startling him for he'd just arrived at that very moment. DRaco took his tea and didn't toast to his thought. Rather, he brooded over his green tea.

"Here's the story, by the way," Vivian pushed a typed, neat two page paper towards him. It was folded in half and it unfurled like a butterfly's wings facing DRaco. He took it and read the title: **Knitting Time Away** _by Brom Breeler._

"It's about those grannies, right?"

"It's precisely that. You're done now."

"Done with what?"

"Me! You have no obligations to me any longer. You can leave at this very moment, I'll pay and doggie-bag your meal," Vivian told him, "I'm opening your cage."

Draco realized that this was true, but she wasn't exactly itching to split. He couldn't believe how easily she took him away from her kind hands; as quickly as she'd gathered him in, and though he fought the whole way through about it, he wasn't so sure about leaving. He had a relationship with her now, and she wanted his help to get a job still. Therefore he had to be around her some more. If she got the job, he'd see her often as he'd arrive at work, dropping off stories for the paper.

"Damn," she said, seeing his conflict-ridden face, "I broke your mind, didn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're losing yourself, slowly, to the world. You're diffusing, doing things for no reason, making decisions without logic. It starts out slow, but I got your gears going."

"You're playing with my mind, in other words," Draco said.

"You're too harsh. Be optimistic about it. I'm letting you learn how to _fly_. You've been sitting and collecting dust for so long you don't have fun anymore," she told him.

Their food arrived. She had sweet and sour chicken over white rice and a side of broccoli smothered with artificial looking yellow cheese. She grew silent, reading her list of words that she had jotted down on a napkin.

"Would you describe a mother's arms, her embrace, as glorious?" She asked, suddenly, referring to some line in her poem.

"I don't know," because he didn't.

"What do you think when you hug your Mum?" She asked.

"To pinch myself and wake up," he admitted, "It's not how we are."

"Oh, one of those no-touching-each-other families. Breeler... is that Germanic?"

"A little," Draco dodged it.

"My Mum's pretty huggable," she said, "but it's not like I feel anything amazing when I hug her since she's hugged me so much. I figured a son would hug his Mum less frequently, but..."

"I don't mind it. Everyone raises their children their own way," Draco began to eat, using his knife and fork elegantly.

She picked at her chicken with her fingers, "So I take it you don't have siblings."

"Nope."

"Do you wish you had any?"

The way she jumped from topic to topic was making him reel, answering candidly. "I used to; someone to prank other students with, someone to blame if I screwed up."

"You were a mean little kid, I bet! A bully, if that's what you wanted a sibling for," she teased.

"Ever wanted to be an only child?"

"Sometimes. I'm second youngest, so my parents really doted on me; my Mum cried most when I moved out and got myself a home."

"What side was your family?" Draco asked finally, this time initiating a question.

"Against You-Know-Who," she replied. "You weren't...?"

"I was."

"Gah, you really deal a handful of negative cards, don't you? If I had to paint your heart it would be concrete."

"Close. Marble."

"Some sort of rock anyway," she joked.

"Like the rocks in your head," he said meanly, his childhood self rejoicing within. He laughed.

"Good one," she laughed with him, or at him, or beside him, he couldn't tell which. "So didn't your family fall apart when You-Know-Who was finally conquered? I'm guessing you fought for him."

"My father and I."

"Is he okay?"

Draco bit his lower lip.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, is he... dead?" She placed her hand gently over his. Her fingers were pulsating with warmth.

He pulled his hand away quickly, as if scalded, "He had a really bad stroke after being hit by a spell. I saw him fall. I'm still angry."

"Is he okay?" She asked, again.

"Alive, if that's what you mean. Completely incompetent though."

"That's awful. Still, the good side won. Do you still hate people that aren't pureblood?"

Draco didn't like how horrible he was coming off in the conversation; he gave her a very collected smile and said, "I don't have to tell you everything."

"Soon you'll realize everyone's equeal, just on different steps on the ladder of mankind."

"How philosophical."

Draco arranged his words with his fingertips as he talked:

The wind from a far icy mountain

Made rosy a child's pink cheek

He is drawn to it, eyes closed,

Desiring to feel.

He wrote it down on his napkin.

She crumpled hers, " I didn't like mine," She said.

He pushed his napkin towards her. She read the poem, then read it again, and said, " There's still hope for you, Brom. You can still feel good about life. Does your life feel good to you?"

"It feels normal," he said, as if to assure himself that it did, but he knew it didn't. He was miserable; he didn't want to move from the Malfoy mansion, which had been in the family for centuries, he didn't want his father to be completely deranged; he didn't want to have to dress his father every morning and put on his pajamas at night; he didn't want to write ridiculous cheery stories when his talent was clearly in covering big news and important events.

The waiter came and put down the check, and Vivian said, "Let's split it 50/50."

Draco agreed and together they assembled enough money to pay, plus a nice tip. The waiter took Draco's napkin and said he qualified for a free meal. Draco wasn't sure he'd ever visit **Taste of Poetry **again, but he thanked the waiter anyway and pushed the coupon into his pocket. He hoped it would dissolve and disappear, so he wouldn't have to look back at these random events taking place in his life; he might miss them, or he might think himself as ridiculous and stupid to go along with Vivian's plans.

"So I guess you'll leave now. Throw in a good word for me at work, if you could," Vivian said.

"That's right. I'll see what I can do," he stood. It felt very awkward all of a sudden. "I'll be going then," he said, but remained standing by the booth.

"Goodbye," Vivian waved to him.

"You're not leaving?"

"I want to wait until six, they have poetry readings then. I've got a few," she dug around in her pockets and pulled out a few sheets of rumpled paper, "I want to share. Can you leave me yours? I'll read it and say it was written by _the _Brom Breeler."

"Fine," he gave her his napkin.

"See, another random act of kindness, on both our parts."

"Dream on, I'm not going to get caught up in this new age garbage."

"It's not garbage," she smiled, "and you've already started. Say hi to Katie for me."

Draco felt angry at nothing in particular; somewhere during the evening something she said disturbed him more than anything else but he couldn't pinpoint what point of their conversation this disturbing news came through. He figured that almost everything she said was a little disturbing to him. He moved himself away from their table and out into the street.

He walked down the street, heading home. He decided he'd write to Narcissa the moment he got home.

****

Ironically, just as he entered their house his owl flew in, carrying a letter from Narcissa. He felt a little ashamed opening it, because he hadn't written back to the last letter and here she was, sending a second one in a row. But as he started reading he realized she was so carried away with finalizing a purchase on a new home that she was oblivious to whether he replied or not. Her letter was written in a hurried scrawl this time, as if she wrote it in between doing important things.

"Draco!

How is everything? Is Lucius doing any better? I found a

street and I found a house, it's a beautiful Victorian mansion,

a tad smaller than the Malfoy manor but it'll suit us well,

especially since you'll be leaving soon and starting a family,

if all goes well.

I'm buying the mansion within the next few days, and I'll

be home before next Wednesday. I've already put the

Malfoy manor on for-sale lists across the country, we'll

sell for sure.

Only one thing I'm curious about in this neighborhood;

They told me someone quite popular is living nearby

but I haven't been able to get scoop as to who it is.

All the families I've met are pureblood, and so I'm

guessing it's someone of stature in the pureblood

community, like Lucius. Well, that's all for now,

Sincerely, Narcissa"

He read the last two words and realized how cold they seemed. _Sincerely_. When was the last time she had said _with love_? _I love you, son_? _I love you, mother?_ He realized quickly that he was having Vivian-like thoughts. "Damn it," he said aloud, tossing the letter onto the table and pulling out a sheet of paper to write a reply while he was still in a good mood. Just thinking of Vivian put him in an unhappy state of mind.

He dipped a feather into an ink well and rested the tip on the top of the paper. He wrote, in his tight script-like handwriting, _Dear Mother._

Draco's father rested at the end of the letter r, and slowly a large black spot appeared on the paper. He didn't feel like rewriting, even though he had only written two words. His mind was blank of anything to say to his Mother.

_I opened your cage._

"You didn't," he said under his breath, scoffing softly. What a ridiculous thing to say, even. As if she were some sort of zookeeper and he was some sort of bird. She had no business telling him how to think. It was a lucky guess that he was acting a little unlike himself this week, by being nice to Katie, and it was only one occasion. He wasn't changing, he was the same person that he was nearly a decade ago, when he was starting his first year at Hogwarts. He'd matured a bit, and changed a lot physically; before he wasn't very tall, at least half a head shorter than Potter by seventh year. He'd grown like crazy between his eighteenth and nineteenth year. He grew his hair out longer, his voice deepened greatly – he figured it could even be sexy if he employed it during the right situation, but such a situation wasn't going to happen for a while still, so he kept his own possible sexiness to himself. He looked older; when he was a seventh year he still looked about the same as his fourth year from the face; now he'd gotten thinner and he had high cheekbones, and a frail kind of look to him. He looked more washed-out; his hair was bleached further white-blonde from the sun and his skin was fine as porcelain. He wasn't eating well and he was getting thinner at a slow pace; therefore he lacked any sort of blush or pinkness to his face.

So physically he was quite a bit different from his younger self; he could pass as his younger self's brother. Inside, he had matured as well; he didn't find bullying as funny as much as knowing secrets and getting people to open up to him, to help develop his stories. He was still capable of the manipulation that he used to make Crabbe and Goyle his loyal protectors. He easily maneuvered people to do what he wanted them to do; he was usually polite but rarely kind. His eyes were cold, he could see it clearly whenever he glanced in the mirror. He had further become distant and a control-freak when Lucius fell apart before his eyes.

He continued writing,

_Father is doing the same as when you left._

Draco dipped the feather into the ink again and added another two hasty lines,

_I'm doing well; I wrote a new story for the paper after a bout of writer's block. I hope to get a better assignment next time._

What else was there to his life?

He had a strange feeling of having very little to live for, which was morbid but not suicidal; he didn't mean that he had no future, rather, his life was composed of very few things. Vivian was right about that.

"Fuck her," he said under his breath again, "fuck me," he grumbled again, for his thoughts and how they veered to her again and again. She really got under his skin. He had no desire to talk to his boss about hiring her. He didn't want to see her again. She bothered him; she was manipulative too, but in a way that he could never be; a higher level perhaps. She had to be manipulative. Kindness didn't change things. She was playing with his mind.

He added another line,

_The house sounds interesting._

Draco didn't want to move. He knew the only reason Narcissa began to focus so much on moving and leaving the Malfoy manor behind was because every room felt like it was drained of Lucius' imposing presence. The various portraits of the family hanging all around the house were sad reminders of the way things were before. Narcissa also couldn't handle what her husband was going through. It was obvious but unspoken between her and her son that she was putting all her energy into this new home because she would fall apart otherwise. It was control of some part of her life. She desperately needed it.

He was like that too, it was difficult for him to accept someone else making rules and doing things for him. He liked predictability and control a lot. Another sentence formed,

_Is it nearby or a long way from the Manor?_

Perhaps if it was far enough away from home, he wouldn't have to see Vivian ever again. He added the typical last few lines,

_I hope you are doing well, I'm doing just fine. I miss you._

He looked at the last line. It felt strange to admit it. He had never been away from his mother, he realized. She was always there, his whole life, and wherever she went, he went with her; when she vacationed he would join her, with Lucius. They were a family that was close in their own ways, just as any loving family would be. He had never had to tell his mother he missed her before. It dawned on him that not only was Rose nearing her death day – bordering on seventy-two – but so were his parents. One day he would wake up and his mother would be still in her bed. Or – his father!

Draco felt unbelievably depressed now.

_Love, Draco_

He added this hastily, before he would change his mind. Love. Yes, he loved his mother. He hadn't told her so since he was eight or so, probably that last Mother's Day where he would still kiss her cheek and give her hand-colored cards.

He put the letter in the envelope, handed it to his owl, and watched it fly out the kitchen window, a bit slowly for he had just made a trip to give Draco the letter from Narcissa.

_They're all going to die sometime,_ he reasoned with himself, _I can't stop that. _The realization that the people around him all had a limit, that they were all undeniably mortal, stung him deeply. This was part of the reason he was colder and more distant to Rose now. He didn't want to miss her anymore than he already did, for all the memories of her in his childhood, walking him by the hand through the park, holding him close at bedtime and reading to him – sometimes she would, sometimes Narcissa would, and infrequently his father, usually reading the newspaper to enrich Draco's life a little.

He didn't like old people in general, he felt uncomfortable around them, seeing the road of their life in the lines on their face, in the age spots on their arms, in the way their skin drooped lifelessly, as if parts of them were already fading into the afterlife.

For the second time that week, he felt like crying. He also felt that he was being childish; he had been perfectly aware of the fact that everyone aged and had to die at some point. He'd suffered about it a little; he remembered an instance where he was sitting in his bedroom, barely six years old, and holding a photograph of his mother and crying because someone in the park told him that his parents would die one day. Some boy whose Mum had died from some disease or another had said it, and Draco was haunted by the idea for a few days, unable to sleep without Narcissa staying by his side until sleep took him.

He snapped out of his thoughts to realize he had tipped over the ink and it had puddled across the newspaper on the table. He began to mop at it hastily with a kitchen rag, blinking away the tears that salted his eyes. _Hell, _he thought to himself, _if I fall apart on my family too, the Malfoys will be done with. I've got to be strong. Mother is losing it as well, slowly. I'm the only one I can rely on to keep this family functioning now._

This was a sobering thought. He was glad this had all happened when it did, when he was an adult already, because he knew the child he was, the bratty, cruel boy he had been, would have failed completely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

His eyes were staring so intently at the ceiling of his four-poster bed he could almost feel them drilling a hole into the material. He blinked and looked around his room for the thirtieth time that night, as he lay there in his bed. He'd have to say goodbye to this room. The room he had grown up in. Draco felt like he was letting go slowly of everything that he had felt was forever as a boy. His father would always be proud and strong. His mother would always be sensible and distant. He would always have a razor-sharp list of insults, and his friends that he played with in his hand like cards. He'd live in his room until he got married, and then he'd have a family, that was his plan. He would have a son and a daughter, he had decided, and he'd spoil them rotten, just as he had been spoiled rotten by his parents. They indulged his every whim, and though he was disciplined and raised quite strictly by them, he had everything he could dream of. They would always be rich, he felt. That, at least, wouldn't change – the Malfoy family was not going to run out of money anytime soon.

He closed his eyes, staring at the darkness of his eyelids, his heart sinking yet again at the barrage of thoughts flowing through his mind.

A soft hoot startled him fully awake again, as he had almost dozed off, his eyes closed. Draco felt a little peeved at first, but then noticed that it wasn't a letter from his mother, but a letter from his boss. He opened it and read feverishly,

_We have received the copy of your story that you have submitted –_

Vivian's story! He felt like throwing up, he was nervous to see if her story met the quality that Brom Breeler stories held. He hadn't even proofread it, for the deadline was so soon on the story he had no time, he barely got his owl to arrive at the Daily Prophet office building on time.

_- and are pleased to announce that it has made the front cover. Congratulations, Breeler, keep it up._

He sighed in relief and tossed the letter into the air and let it flutter like a dead bird onto his covers. He didn't feel like sleeping nude tonight, which was unusual. He had instead put on a warm set of pajamas that he had gotten as a gift from his father a year or two ago; Lucius always found it unusual that Draco liked to sleep the way he did, and he was trying to encourage him to try something new.

They were soft, flannel-like, and black with silver lining. He curled up in the corner of his bed and tried to fall asleep, to lull himself with the comfort of the pajamas and the soft smell of Lucius' cologne still on them, two years later. Lucius sprayed clothing he gave as a gift with his cologne, convinced that since he liked them, and convinced that his taste in cologne was impeccable, everyone else would enjoy it too. Draco felt it had too sharp a smell, and that it didn't fit him, but tonight he breathed it in like fresh air.

He sat up. He was too awake.

He could hear Lucius tossing in his sleep, babbling, from down the hall.

Draco suddenly wished Katie was staying the night. She would have probably stayed up late, reading in the moonlight, or drawing; he would have stopped in and checked on her, to do_ something_, rather than lying in bed awake.

He ran his fingers through his hair once, then once again, gathering it behind his ears, then looking down at his feet, letting it tumble free, and then repeating it. It amused him for a while, but he caught himself and stopped. _I'm going insane, _he thought unhappily.

****

Narcissa arrived that Wednesday as promised. Draco opened the door, and felt an unusual urge to hug her, but he didn't. Narcissa walked straight past him, giving him a pat on the cheek and a kind hello, then put down her suitcase on the floor and looked at him, excitedly, "We got the house. Plus, we have a buyer for this one."

"Why didn't you write? I waited for your reply."

"Oh? Did you write? I must have stashed it away somewhere and forgot to read it," she said apologetically, "How is Lucius?"

"Completely out of it."

"Don't say that," she said sharply, "it isn't his choice. He... he has a _condition _now. We have to take care of him."

"Or at least, _I _, you haven't been home," he didn't intend to be mean to her, but the second he said it he felt how hurtful it was.

"I didn't abandon you two, if that's what you're getting at," Narcissa snapped back, "I was looking for a proper place to live, this place ... I just don't feel like being here, it's getting too drafty and old."

_Too full of memories, _Draco interpreted. "I'm sorry," he said, inadequately.

Narcissa sighed and looked around the house critically, "Lucky for you, the new house is just a few streets away. It's a beautiful home. You can still walk to your café if you'd like, or just teleport yourself. You do know how, don't you?"

"Of course," Draco had passed all his classes with high marks, something he was always proud of. He realized what she had just said all of a sudden – he wouldn't get away from Vivian, after all.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Nothing," Draco waved the thought away with a hand gesture, "I'm fine."

"Well, start packing, we're leaving tomorrow."

"What!"

"Don't tell me it will take you more than an evening to pack your things," Narcissa said critically. Draco could see in her eyes how happy she was about this move; he hadn't seen her like this since he graduated Hogwarts. He didn't want to part with his home so abruptly, even though he had over two weeks of time to get used to the idea that he was moving; he didn't want to hurt his mother either so he told her,

"I can... it's just so sudden."

"I know, but change is good sometimes," Narcissa said quietly, "And I don't want the neighbors to find out about Lucius. Our new home is quite a walk from the other houses nearby, actually; it's at least five minutes, there's a dirt road leading up to the mansion, through a nice garden; it's the biggest house in the neighborhood."

"Sounds lovely," he managed to say.

Rose walked into the room, and she and Narcissa exchanged salutations. Draco left the room, a little stupefied, and went up the staircase and sat not in his bedroom, but in the guest bedroom that Katie slept in. He could still see his childhood books on her desk, the one about dinosaurs open and lying face-down – _the spine will break, can't she use a bookmark? _– and then laid down on the bed.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly, and when he woke up it was late at night. Nobody had disturbed his sleep. He scurried to his room and tossed his belongings into his suitcase, then used a shrinking spell to get his bed and desk into it as well. He made the suitcase miniature, put it in his pants pocket – choosing to wear the clothes he slept in the next day.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

He stood in front of his new home, gaping at it with some awe. It was indeed a spectacular Victorian masterpiece; the garden was superb and tastefully done; the dirt road was romantic and the house had a cheerful atmosphere to it, but also a vibe of Gothic, which he had to admit to liking. When he stepped into the home, leading his father in, he could smell the home and realized he liked it immediately – it smelled of fresh wood from the hardwood floors, which were polished until they were nearly mirrors. The home was huge, the kitchen was large and spacey, and there was a room with a fireplace, to his delight.

Draco left his father with Narcissa and roamed about on his own. There was a large room that was two stories high, which he decided would be the library. The ceiling of the room was domed and covered with paintings of angels and demons. There were intricate carvings in the wooden banisters on the grand staircase, as well as in the corners of rooms and along the floorboards and walls.

He knew which room would be his at once; he could see Narcissa smiling when she saw it the first time, knowing he would love it. There was a large walk-in closet, a large window that jutted out of the side of the home like a small, closed-in balcony, where he could sit and peer out at the orchard behind the home and write stories for the paper, or just meditate and reflect on his day.

He spent the day unpacking and setting up the various rooms. Narcissa spent the day following Lucius around, who was like a cat whose whiskers had been chopped off; he couldn't find his way around, and looked absolutely terrified and confused.

When night came, Draco slept on the carpeted floor of the window in his room, covered with a fleece blanket, wearing nothing but the pants of the pajamas Lucius gave him. Before he fell asleep, however, he had stared out at the sky, watching out for constellations he recognized, and observing the full moon.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

Despite his uneasiness about running into Vivian, Draco went to the café again. He ordered his usual coffee and was almost done with it before he saw Vivian. She walked in, and he was shocked to see she had dyed her hair electric blue and cut it to her shoulders. When she saw him over her shoulder, she rushed over and sat down beside him.

"Like it?" She moved her head around, as if modeling for him.

"It's a little shocking," He said finally. Shocking didn't begin to describe it. It was a very volatile shade of blue, one he wouldn't consider wearing even as a tie or slacks, not to mention as a hair color. If someone had eyes that color, they'd be a complete freak of nature, not to mention hair...

"I bet you'd _never _dye your hair. If I could, I'd make it black," she said.

"Why? Trying to make me look even more depressing?"

"No, it'd really stand out, you're so pale. I'm jealous. I'm fair too, but I've got freckles."

"You can't really tell," Draco said kindly. He was in a good mood after seeing how fitting the new home was. He wasn't even disturbed by her presence. She saw his good mood and asked him at once what was going on.

He didn't want to tell her, so he said, "I'm just having a good week."

"Because you haven't seen me all week long?" She asked.

"Not only that."

"Why do you dislike me?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Sure, why not."

"You're everything I don't want to be. You're ... I don't know, peppy and completely off the wall; random, crazy, way too kind; a total basket case, a fashion disaster... I could go on and on. And you're manipulative. You get under my skin in a way that I don't like, it feels as annoying as when I have dirt under my fingernails, or like a mosquito bite that is scratched until it's the size of a coin, and then itches insanely. You mess with people's minds."

"I don't!" She protested, "I motivate them. I point out that their lives could be better."

"My life is fine, thank you," He said, "I didn't need any extra motivation."

"I've observed you before, you know," Vivian told him, "You come to this café often. I'm surprised you never noticed me."

"You blend in with the tiles," Draco responded, tapping on the black tiles.

"Ha, ha." She said sharply, then added, "I'd see you, you always looked so dour and depressed. I just had to get to know you, figure out what you're all about. I had no idea you were Brom Breeler."

"Yeah, well..."

"I could leave you alone completely if you want. Tell me and I will, I don't like being a pest," Vivian told him.

Catching him off guard again, his politeness button went off and he told her, lamely, " you don't, I mean... I don't mind that much, it's just – you don't understand, our personalities clash too much. All we do is argue when we meet."

"Nah, we _debate_," She said.

"Whatever it is, it's unnerving too."

"You're a control-freak. I can see it in everything you did do, and still do. The way you always get the same paper at the same time, and read it in the same order, and drink the same coffee. You wear the same few outfits, you sit in the same exact chair each time you come here."

"If not for people like me, society would fall apart."

"Not true, if there were no nice, happy, caring people like me society would fall apart too."

"So let's keep society alive without clashing against each other, huh?" He leaned forwards on the table, giving her a severe look.

She kissed his nose.

He leaned back, absolutely horrified at first, then confused, "Wha- - what do you think you're doing?" A blush ran across his face, "Are you insane?"

Vivian grinned, " Yes."

"What the fuck," he asked aloud, "is your problem?"

"You've never kissed a girl."

"Sod off, that's not your business," He realized he had given away that he had, in fact, not kissed a girl. However, he added quickly, to defend his honor, "I bet you kiss everything, to make up for it. Trees, little children, people's asses."

"No, not really," She grinned, "Wow, I love this. You _are_ completely opposite of me. If you were to lean forwards and kiss _my _nose, I'd be completely thrown off track too, but you wouldn't because you don't think to shock people like I do. So you react to what _I _do absolutely predictably, because you're such a control-freak, and you hate when things get chaotic. And I love things to get silly and unusual and surprising, if life stops surprising you, you might as well die right there; I would anyway, rather than have the same sort of day every day until I die," she babbled, as she always seemed to do when things got too stressful or heated up.

"Wow, all that from watching me drink coffee every morning, huh?" He asked bitterly, his mood souring by the minute.

"Don't take it so hard," She said gently, "I do try to push your buttons a little, but don't tell me you don't go home and wonder sometimes about what I say."

He didn't reply.

"I wonder about you too, you know. When I get home."

"_Why_? Why me? Why'd you have to attach yourself to me?"

"Since you intrigued me. You're the most orderly, mean, distant person I've ever met. But you're also brilliant, and you write the best damn newspaper articles I've ever read, and I fancied you through those stories. I was let down when I found out you were kind of a tosspot, but I like you even more now, this way. It's a challenge."

"You _fancy _me?" He was taking things one at a time, while she was throwing handfuls of new information at him.

"No, no, not like that, I envied your talent. I'm a writer too. See?" She flapped a notebook around in front of his face.

He pushed it away, " You're bizarre, and I should have left the café five minutes ago, this is absolutely beyond a doubt complete lunacy on your part."

"I see you as more insane than me."

"Because I don't do crazy things, right?"

"You don't risk anything. You don't have strong feelings about anything, except maybe your family pride, and your hate for Mudbloods. Don't look so shocked, I know that's what you call them in your mind."

He frowned and stood up, "I'm _not _having this conversation any longer."

"Wait," She pulled on his shirt.

"Let go," He sighed, completely out of the mood for forcing a girl off of him. " I think you're obsessed with me, you're a stalker and a spy, and a real pain in the neck that sticks her nose where it doesn't belong, and good day," he yanked his shirt from her hands and began to leave.

She followed him, " Can I just say one more thing, in my defense?"

"What?" He asked.

"You're really cute when you blush. I was just curious, don't blame me," She smiled cheerfully, patted his back, and said, "Be nice and get me a job interview, huh? I'll leave you alone then."

"I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning. I've had enough of this." He didn't even want to begin to think what all this cute-when-you-blush nonsense was about.

"You're so _fun _though," Vivian called after him as he walked out the door.

He walked home even more pissed off than last time. He touched his nose about two streets down from the café and couldn't fathom why she was pursuing him so much other than to mess with him and his mind, and maybe because she liked him, fancied him even. She was a freak of nature to him though, something that he couldn't file away in an orderly manner, because he couldn't see any way to fit her in his life; she jutted out like a sore thumb from the firmness and security of his life.

Lacking control, being constantly on guard, constantly teased and played with and then left hanging on the edge was taking its toll. He hated to admit it, but something about her fascinated _him_, too, and he hated that part of himself like he hated her, because against his permission she had laid the egg of curiosity and disorder in him and it was ready to hatch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Thought I'd have some fun with a chapter twist...

**Chapter Seven**

He hated the home.

&&&&&&&&

Potter lived on the same street as him.

&&&&&&&&

****

"Fuck."

That was the word he greeted the morning after with. He was hung over, worn out from arguing with Narcissa over the fact that Harry Potter lived on the same block – "I don't understand, he's a pureblood, I don't know where this rift between you two started, but you're an adult now, and blah, blah, blah," – and then he drank a large amount of alcohol, sat on his window sill and brooded, threw up twice and fell asleep.

"Fuck," He said again, to the ceiling of his four-poster, and then sat up dizzily.

In his doorway stood Katie.

"Fuck," He said a third time.

"Fuck?" She asked right back.

"Fuck. I mean, don't say that. Oh, fuck," He put a hand up to his forehead.

She laughed uneasily, "What happened?"

"Nothing, headache," he said sleepily, "Why are you here? Who let you in?" He forgot entirely for a minute that Narcissa was back home; that he was in a new home.

"Your mum? Hello?"

"I've got a story to write," He complained angrily, "I can't baby sit at the same time."

"I'm not a baby," Katie said, "I can take care of myself."

"Sorry, your Majesty," Draco said meanly.

"You're a buttface this morning."

"Thanks."

"A big one."

"I hope they put that on my gravestone. You're so sweet."

"Buttface."

"Fuck off," He sank back into his bed, laying down very slowly, as his brain felt as if it were rafting down a rapid river. When he looked back at the doorway, she was gone. He closed his eyes and swore mentally, until it became a freakish lullaby, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

&&&&&&&&&&&

****

Correction. Potter _and _Mudblood _and _a Mini Potter lived on the same street.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

He pulled himself out of bed and looked out the window. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, drawing patterns on the floor. It hurt his eyes; especially when he saw the glare on the desk. Draco stood, his head reeling, and began to dress. He faintly remembered seeing Katie in the doorway and was glad he wore pajama bottoms to bed, or she'd have seen him nude.

Though originally he hoped to cloister himself in his room and never emerge, except to eat, he felt he needed to take a walk.

He ventured out into the hallway and saw that Katie's bedroom door was open. A little embarrassed, he approached her doorway, leaned against her door, and looked at her.

She was kneeling on the floor, punching out a paper doll and all her accessories. He knocked and she looked up, as did her doll. The doll smiled a plastic smile and Katie looked surprised, then her face clouded over, as if she had quite a few grievances against Draco.

"I'm going for a walk. Want to come along?"

He was trying to make up for his hung over morning. She saw right through it and said, loudly, "You'd still be a butt-face, even if you take me for a walk."

"How about a café? You can get ice cream, or a cookie, or something."

She sighed, as if she was making an unbelievable sacrifice. "All right," She stood, and then added, "For ice cream."

He walked out into the hallway. She followed him. Draco led her down the grand staircase and saw Narcissa sitting in the large living room adjacent to the entrance hallway. She looked at him, anger riddling her face, and said, "You certainly made a spectacle of yourself last night."

Draco half recalled having a slurred argument with his mother, then storming into bed, slamming his door; when Narcissa knocked on it he swore, though he didn't recall what he said, and Katie had been frightened by him.

"I was furious," Draco responded, "I can't handle Potter, at least not as far as I recall. And he has Mudblood living with him, too."

"I'm sorry, but a stupid school boy disagreement isn't enough to change my mind."

"Harry Potter? The Bow Who Lived?" Katie asked, intrigued.

"Shush," Draco told her.

"If he bothers you that much, realize that you'll probably never even see him, they live at least a mile down the road."

"That's too close anyhow, Draco said, lamely, feeling a little childish now about the argument. He saw Narcissa's tired, unhappy face and caved in a little, "I suppose I can avoid any contact with him."

"I'm no fan of Harry Potter either, he was a large part in You-Know-Who's fall, and our family had long been loyal to him, and you know your father had personally been singled out by You-Know-Who many years ago, asking for his help, he had graduated at the top of the Slytherin class," Narcissa told him, and then added, "It's time to put the past where it belongs, behind us."

Katie slipped a hand into Draco's and squeezed it impatiently, "Let's _go_, please?" She could still sense hostility and conflict between Draco and Narcissa, and like most children, she didn't want to see her family fight.

"I'm going out with Katie," Draco told Narcissa.

"Be home for dinner at six."

Draco nodded and opened the front door, or rather pushed it open, as it was a large two door entrance that they kept unlocked for now.

It was beautiful outside. A white butterfly winged past him, its wings glowing. The fountain bubbled and spouted, the water was so clean he could have cupped his hand and drank from it without hesitation. The flowers were still standing from summer's bloom, but autumn had begun, lighting the trees with fire, leaving leaves like embers crackling from a burning log, settled in between green foliage.

"I like your new house," Katie declared. She ran up to the fountain and sat on the marble edge encircling the fountain's pool. Her fingers dipped in the water and she shuddered in her fuzzy red sweater, "It's so cold."

He walked up to her and stood behind her, then patted the top of her head like he would a pet's, and said, "Let's get going."

Katie stood and followed him down the dirt path. It must have been at least 70 degrees Fahrenheit outside; the sun was bright but cool, the wind gentle and not too chilly. The trees swayed, the leaves hissing a mystical song. Draco paused and picked up the prickly pod of a chestnut. He showed it to her, digging his fingernails into the green shell, and pulled it apart. She picked the nut out and threw it towards a squirrel, skittering by. It stopped, sniffed the chestnut, took it into its mouth and fled.

They wandered on, sometimes in sunlight, sometimes in the shade. He was silent and so was she. They were both awed by the beauty of the manor's grounds.

"It's so pretty," Katie finally broke the silence, which wasn't at all awkward, rather it was reverent and peaceful. Draco breathed in a lungful of the autumn air and nodded.

"It's a bit of a walk from the main road," Draco admitted, "Just like the other homes out here."

"You won't see Harry," She said, then added, "Do you hate him since he fought on the other side, and was one of the people in that last battle that killed You-Know-Who?"

"I hated him before all that."

"What'd he do?"

"He rejected my friendship offer. He could have made it to Slytherin, but he chose to be in Gryffindor, I think; he became friends with a Mudblood and one of the Weasleys the second he got on the train, I bet. I didn't understand him, I was raised to think purebloods were ultimately superior. I guess it made sense for him to be on the opposing side, with his parents and all being killed by You-Know-Who. I would have still respected him, a little, there were people in Slytherin against You-Know-Who," Draco explained.

"So it goes _all _the way back to your first day at school?" Katie exclaimed, " Does he even hate you back?"

"Oh, it was mutual for a while, but he probably forgot about me. I wish I'd been as lucky and forgot about him."

"Do you still think You-Know-Who was right about purebloods being the only type of witch or wizard that ought to exist?"

"I don't know, I've met a lot of half-bloods and even Mudbloods as a journalist. I couldn't even tell, interviewing them, what they were. They'd tell me near the end, so I could get a background check – age, name, all that – and I'd be so surprised sometimes. People I pegged at purebloods would turn out Mudbloods; I'd interview people that I felt connected to, who gave me eyewitness reports that made me sympathize a little, and then find out they were half-blood."

"You still call them Mudbloods."

"They are."

Katie nodded finally, "You're kind of lost then with your opinion?"

"I guess you could say so."

She nodded once more, "My Mum and Dad didn't take sides."

"I know, I guess that's fine too," Draco sighed, "I just want to put it all in the past, like my mother said. The fighting , the hate in the end; it was exciting to cover as a journalist, and I had to write without showing my bias so I saw both sides, and the point of views of people on either side. Now I just want to forget all of it. Most people do, it was awful."

"Like what happened to Uncle Lucius," Katie said.

Draco blurted out, passionate now about the conversation, "Sometimes I wish it killed him, that spell. He would have gone out with dignity."

They had finally left the dirt path winding uphill through trees and gardens to the Malfoy manor and were staring on the main road, which was paved with cobblestones. It had taken fifteen minutes just to get to the actual street they lived on, and Draco was pleased and realized he wouldn't see Harry at all, and possibly his worst enemy would never even know that they were living on the same street. Katie and Draco were silent again, both thinking about ethics and politics, but Katie's mind wandered and wondered while Draco really pondered it all. He remembered Vivian's words – that he'd think things he didn't think of, that he'd do things for no reason – and saw a little truth in it. Once you veer away from control, things begin to unravel. Vivian was his veer off the road.

They had reached a busy street, pulsating like their sleepy little town's main artery, flooded with people and merchants. BAZAAR DAY, a sign shouted. Draco and Katie exchanged excited looks and they rushed towards the mass of merchant stands.

The stand they hit first was a jewelry stand. Katie lifted a silver snake pendant and said, "If I get into Slytherin this would look _so _cool with my uniform!" The snake pendant wriggled in her hand, the silver scales glittering.

"You'll get into Slytherin, our family's a chronic Slytherin family."

"We're distant cousins though."

"Doesn't matter, you could have a different last name, but you're still Slytherin-bound."

She grinned devilishly and gave him a meaningful look. Draco couldn't say no to her; she still had the Malfoy temperament in her blood; she'd throw a tantrum and guilt him into buying the pendant anyhow. Besides, he felt good spoiling her; she reminded him of himself at that age – manipulative, intelligent, perceptive, moody, detached, clever, Quidditch-loving and above all a fan of Slytherin.

Draco paid for the pendant and then helped her put it on. "I wish I had that pendant starting my first year, Crabbe would have loved it. Goyle too, then again. They'd probably ask me to lend it to them every other day.

"Look!" Katie pointed at a stand nearby, "It's your friend!"

"What?" He turned and saw Vivian. She was selling art pieces, books, and what looked like hand-made jewelry and statuettes. He saw her turning and he ducked behind a burly man standing nearby, but he was taller and his eyes caught Vivian's. She waved her arm, signaling to come closer. Katie was tugging at his hand, "Come on, let's check her stand out."

He walked over towards Vivian's stand. He glanced over stand. She had printed copies of her books, the illustrations on the covers moving about, charmed to entice readers and to suggest the plot of the book. Her art pieces were beautiful, and also charmed, the figures in them pruning and turning around; while a still life of flowers was illuminated by a sun that peeked through the windows, casting beautiful lighting across the painted table and making the vase glitter; then the sun would leave from the window and the still life looked sad and dark.

"Do you like it?" Vivian asked, and then handed Katie a bracelet, "Here, you can have one, I made way too many; I'll never sell them all."

Katie grinned and put it on. Draco could almost read her thoughts; _Score! I'm getting all this free stuff! My friends will be **so **jealous!_ Katie waved the bracelet around, trying to get his attention, "Look!"

Draco gave Vivian a trite nod in response to her question, then glanced at Katie's bracelet. It was really cool, he had to admit; it was made of small wooden beads, with flames drawn on all of them, and it had a cute little charm cast on it so that the fire danced and crackled.

"It's nice," Draco said.

Vivian smiled and asked, "Had a tough night?"

"How do you know?"

"Your eyes are so bloodshot," She replied, "Hung over?"

He gave her a strange look.

"Woman's intuition."

"Ah."

Katie's face broke into a smile. Draco didn't like the look on her face, and he gave Katie a warning glance, just in case she'd say something that would ultimately embarrass him.

"He was _so_ scary last night," Katie said, poking Draco in the side, "He had the biggest row with his Mum, too."

"Mmm, controversy," She grinned and looked at Draco, "Any particular reason? Just felt like drinking? Secret habit as an alcoholic?"

"I was given some bad news."

"Harry Potter lives on his block!" Katie said.

"Was that the bad news?"

Katie looked at Draco. Draco's eyes, blood shot as they were, glared like a demon's at her. She shook her head within seconds of Vivian's response, and said, "No, just randomness."

"I had no idea. I know him. I wonder why he didn't tell me that he lives on the same street as Breeler. They know I'm a fan," Vivian said.

"Well, I'm very private, and we only moved in recently."

"Can I visit sometime? I'm in the neighborhood a lot, it's lovely to walk around."

"He likes long walks too," Katie butted in.

"Do you really?" Vivian smiled at Draco, "Is this a new thing? Doing unusual things for the hell of it?"

"No," Draco replied, "I've always taken long walks."

"Yeah, that's why he's so skinny, he walks all over the place and thinks too much and eats, like, two meals a day," Katie said, meanly.

"What've you got against me today?" Draco asked, lifting one eyebrow, "I bought you a pendant."

"You were a butt-face this morning."

Vivian watched them quarrel, amused.

"Am I still a butt-face? Would a butt-face buy you a necklace?"

"To cover up that they're a butt-face."

"You're being a butt-face now too."

"Guess it runs in the family," Katie said, and gave him a Cheshire cat grin.

Draco panicked. If she called him Draco Malfoy, his identity would be out. Vivian would visit Harry Potter, as his acquaintance, and tell him about Malfoy. They'd all have a jolly laugh at Draco's misfortune, and then word would be out about the mysterious Brom Breeler and his true identity.

Katie wasn't that mean, though. She fiddled with her bracelet and said nothing.

Vivian looked at Draco, "So, any reason you came to the bazaar? Hoping to find something? Doing random things?"

"Wouldn't you wish. No, you haven't influenced me, you were wrong. I'm doing what I always do. We're going to the café," Draco said, " I'd have gone this morning but yes, I was really hung over."

"Was the drinking a random event at least?" Vivian looked a little disappointed, but mostly she was teasing him.

"No."

"Still in the cage, then. You're too afraid to come out."

"What? He's gay?" Katie exclaimed.

"NO!" Draco protested.

"Are you?" Vivian looked as if she couldn't be any happier, "That'd be so cool!"

"Why? I thought you fancied me," Draco said blatantly.

Vivian's cheeks colored a little but she ignored his statement and said, "I _love _gay guys. And that would explain why you're so uptight and stuff. You're afraid of facing who you are inside. Internal conflict, awesome; I could help you, like a therapist, guide you out of your closed-minded world."

"Yeah, dream on," Draco said meanly, "I'm not in a cage, you are. A cage filled with dreams and fantasies. You're heading towards major disappointment. People like you get slapped in the face by life eventually and you'll realize that there's nothing to be so fanciful about in this world, _nothing_. It's dreary and annoying and once you become an adult your life's pretty much drained of any fun whatsoever."

"I'm an adult and I'm having loads of fun."

"Are you making money to support yourself?"

She looked taken aback, but answered honestly, "My parents mostly help me out financially until my career as a writer and artist really sets off."

"That'll _never_ happen," he said, "The chances of becoming a famous writer or artist are at least a million to one, you'll just be another no-name, artsy bum that'll be poor and incapable of providing for themselves."

"That's not true," Vivian exclaimed, "I want to get a normal job, and write in my free time, I know it'll be hard to get where I want to be but it's completely worth it. I even asked you to help me by getting me a job at the Daily Prophet. I bet you haven't done anything to help me."

Draco felt a little sick inside, "I've put it off, but I'll talk with my boss."

"You won't," She said, dismayed, "Maybe you _are _a lost cause."

"He is," Katie interjected, "He's a total meanie most of the time and he hides out in his room and writes all the time. And not just journalist stuff, poetry and stories. And he reads little kid's books, I saw him flipping through a dinosaur book again yesterday."

Draco put his hand heavily on Katie's shoulder, "I think it's time to get going now."

"Do I still get ice cream?" Katie asked.

"_No._"

"Nice seeing you two again," Vivian said, kindly, and looked at Draco with surprise, "I'd like to read your poetry sometimes."

"It's _private_. I can't believe you looked through my private papers," Draco was furious now with Katie, though he knew that she was no different than he was as a child; opting for any way possible to bully someone or to embarrass someone. It was just the way they were.

"Aw, she's just being a kid," Vivian said, then added, "She reminds me of somebody from school. Ages ago."

"Oh? Um, well," Draco tried to remember if he'd ever heard of Vivian while at Hogwarts, but the name didn't bring back any memories. However, he couldn't discount the fact that she could have gone to school with him; she might have known Draco Malfoy as everyone was in the general knowledge that Draco was a bit of an asshole, he had to admit it even to himself, "What school did you go to?"

"Hogwarts," she said.

"Ah," he nodded slowly, perplexed.

"You?"

"Oh, it was a small private school," He waved the thought away, "My parents home-schooled me a bit too."

"No wonder I haven't heard of a Brom Breeler," She said, disappointed.

"Well, we must get going," Draco said.

Katie nodded, uncomfortably. She could sense she'd gone too far.

"Bye, guys," Vivian said.

Draco waved half-heartedly in response, or rather lifted his hand in a papal-like gesture and then walked away, this time pulling Katie by the hand rather than vice versa. The moment they were out of hearing distance of Vivian, he burst out, "What the _fuck _was that all about?"

"You were a butt-face to me."

"Oh, you haven't even _seen _me at my most butt-faced," He shook his head suddenly, "And stop calling me that."

"No, butt-face."

"Then I'll call you something, too," he said.

"You wouldn't," She laughed in his face. Her breath was atrocious.

"Do you even brush your teeth?" He demanded.

"My dad never packs my stuff right," Katie shrugged, "And he doesn't leave enough underwear either."

Though, like all children, Draco used to avoid brushing his teeth and used to wear his underwear longer than hygiene would allow; however, he made a face and said, "That's disgusting, you might as well write 'dirty' on your forehead."

"You should too, then, you still kind of smell like alcohol. And puke, too."

Draco made a face, opened his mouth to argue, but only made a low-pitched croak, too astounded to say anything intelligent. Their eyes met, and suddenly they both burst out laughing. He couldn't be mad at her, she was just like him in the end. He put her in a headlock mockingly, and said, "You'll be sorry."

"Rape!" She cried out in horror.

An elderly gentleman standing nearby looked absolutely aghast and moved away.

They set off for the café, after all, and they both got double-scoop ice cream cones with sprinkles, and jeered one another the entire time, exchanging insults and jabs. By the time they got home again, their stomachs were cramped from laughing and Draco felt ten years old again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** As I was writing, the chapters kept getting longer and longer, the plot "funner"... and I just finished the last chapter, after taking a LONG time as I enjoyed it SO much... hahaha...

**Chapter Eight**

Draco played cards with Katie until late at night, enjoying himself. They both apologized to each other subtly during the course of the evening. Narcissa busied herself with tending to Lucius, so they were free to enjoy themselves. Draco taught her to play poker, she taught him Go Fish. When the grandfather clock struck eleven at night, Draco put his cards down and said, "I'm going to bed."

"Aw, we were just having fun," She protested.

"Am I still a butt-face?"

"Nah..." She shrugged.

"You've been here two nights in a row. What's your dad up to now?"

"He's staying in a hotel in another city, where my Mum lives. They finally have a court date. They both want to have me exclusively to themselves," she said miserably, "And Dad will come get me to talk as witness or something and say what I'd prefer."

"What do you prefer?"

"When we all lived together."

Draco looked up at the library ceiling, meters and meters above his head. An angel was spreading its white wings protectively, its face mellow; it looked a bit like him, with very pale skin and light blonde hair, its lips pink, but its face was rounded a little, as if the angel was still part child; it held a sword that was studded with rubies and gold; the artist actually put real gold and rubies on the ceiling. He wondered who painted it.

Katie saw him looking up and looked up as well, "What're you looking at?"

"Sometimes you have to compromise," he said, finally, looking down at her again, " Maybe say you spend a month with your father, then a month with your mother, back and forth."

"I guess so," She gathered their playing cards together and rubber-banded them together.

"I had to do it too."

"What?"

"Compromise! About the house, and Potter; I agreed because I could tell my mother liked the house, and she looked so hurt... so I got what I sort of wanted; a home that was far away enough that I wouldn't see Potter anyway, and my mother's happy... and she got her house, and a house that is sadly nearby Potter's."

"Why don't you call him by his first name?"

"I don't know. It's harder to say Harry in a spiteful, disgusted voice. _Potter_. It just drips with vileness."

"Cool," She got up.

They walked to their bedrooms, said goodnight, and separated.

Draco walked into his room and threw the curtains open to look at the crescent of a waning moon. His eyes shimmered and he closed the door and sat down in the blanket-swaddled window seat. He wrapped the blanket around himself, tucked the pillow behind his back, and watched the world beyond his window. He could see, in the distance, some bird wing over the moon, a black shape that quickly disappeared again. He closed his eyes, and thought about the pale face of the moon. His thoughts became liquid and unusual, and he thought of the moon as his own face, and then some strange thought about reaping energy from the stars, because he had no energy in him, which made sense at the time. He fell asleep, his legs curled up against his chest, feeling ten years old anyhow.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Katie had left very early in the morning, and Draco slept through her departure. He walked into the kitchen, picked an apple for breakfast, and crunching it slowly, he wandered out into his garden. He walked past the fountain and onto the dirt road that ran between trees and bushes. He threw his apple core into the grass, feeling that it was part of nature and therefore would disintegrate and help the soil, so he wasn't truly littering.

He paused suddenly, a cat-like instinct overcoming him. He squinted his eyes and could make out someone sitting on the stone bench, on _his_ property; and whoever it was happened to be moving their arms enthusiastically, thrusting them forwards, then laying them at their sides.

_Some sort of lunatic_, he thought to himself. _How do you get someone crazy off your lawn? Do you have to escort them? Maybe just yell at them... _He reached for his wand, which he had taken along with him, perhaps by premonition or instinct.

As he came closer (he was slightly near-sighted, and though he could easily use magic to fix his eyes, he kind of liked the soft hazy blur that far away places had; it made the world look like a painting), he could tell it was Vivian.

He stopped, thinking about running into the trees and getting himself home, before she found out that this was where he lived. He remembered her saying that she liked to walk around the neighborhood, but he thought she had the decency to keep away from private property.

A new feeling overcame him, a desire to scold her and tell her to stay off his property. That would have been effective, and it would have been how he honestly felt.

Vivian turned and saw him. He realized that she had been throwing pieces of bread and grain, and a few brave ducks were standing just across the road, eating them. She said, her voice low, "Don't scare them away."

"What're you doing here?" He asked.

"Do you walk around here too? It's the most beautiful part of this street."

"I'd say I definitely do; I live here."

"Wow, I bet you wandered around and just marveled at this place the first time you saw it," She said, then motioned for him to come closer.

He walked closer, walking softly because of the ducks, though he resisted an urge to frighten them; they were defecating all around the path, and the little green turds made him paranoid about stepping on them.

"You shouldn't be here, it's private property," somehow the sentence came out a little less harsh than he originally intended, so he added, "I never invited you to visit me."

"I'm not here to visit you, I had no idea this was your house. I've never seen you here before."

"That's precisely why we bought a house a good decent half mile off the road; it's so people don't wander in where they're not wanted."

"We?"

Draco could have kicked himself. "My mother and father."

"I thought you lived alone," she mused, "Why're they staying with you? Too overprotective?"

He shrugged; he didn't want to talk about his father.

"So I guess you want me to leave," She stood slowly.

Draco felt a little bad, but he wanted Vivian to stay out of his life; he wanted to press a magical button that said "pause" so that he could get some space.

"Alright then," Vivian began to walk down the dirt path, away from his home. Draco watched and waited until she was a few feet away, and then remembered something.

"I gave in your resume at work."

She turned and nodded, "Thanks. Guess that was your good deed of the week."

"You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry, you just shooed me off your property, when all I did was sit on a bench and feed your ducks."

"I didn't think it was possible that you'd be angry or upset."

"It's not always sunshine and daisies in my life, too," She seemed worn out, somehow.

"You're actually depressed," he laughed uneasily, "Maybe life gave you a slap in the face finally."

"You wouldn't understand," She replied.

Draco thought to himself, _I guess we all have our problems. _He said, "I'm not supposed to tell you, but my boss said you're a shoo-in for the job."

"And a shoo off your property," Vivian kidded, bitterly.

"Is that what this is all about? Fine, feed the ducks, make them too fat to bother walking around and shitting all over the place," He said.

"Do you like _anything_ or _anyone_ in this world? You don't even like animals, that's terrible," She complained, "And thanks for the job, but I don't know if I want to take it anymore."

"Why?"

"You'd constantly be there, and I can tell you really dislike me. I didn't do anything to hurt you, I didn't mess with your mind on purpose. That's just how I am." She twirled a blue strand of hair thoughtfully. The blue was fading and her bleached-white hair was showing through, "I guess our personalities clash too much. I'm really a person that likes to do good things, I guess, maybe I am a goody-goody. Maybe I am over due for a slap in the face. And I got one."

"Really?"

"Yes, it was you." She continued walking.

He didn't know what to do, so he jammed his hands into his pockets, thought, _good riddance_, and sat down on the bench. One of the ducks turned its head, its vacuous black eye staring into his. "What're _you _looking at?" He threatened.

_How am I her slap in the face?_

An owl hooted somewhere sleepily.

_It's her fault, she pushed herself into my life. I didn't ask for someone to turn me into some sort of new age, happy freak. My life is fine the way it is. She can live however she wants, but she shouldn't butt into people's business._

Draco reached down and felt the paper bag full of bread and old buns. He turned it over and let it all tumble out onto the dirt path.

"Eat up, bastards," He murmured, angry at Vivian.

_She has no business telling me how to live life. I was doing just fine until she came in and pushed her bullshit on me. Think abstract thoughts, do things out of the good of the heart. The only thing I should worry about is my father, my mother, maybe Katie; I've got no reason to polish anyone else's shoes. I'm rich, she's living in an apartment off money from her parents and whatever feeble revenue she gets from her books and art. She can't even help herself, why is she trying to "help" me?_

_And above all, why am I some sort of slap in the face? Because I didn't cave in? Because she couldn't change me? Maybe she's used to having people liking her, for being so happy and nice. It gets on my nerves, under my skin, she's nothing like me. Maybe she hasn't dealt with a person like me._

His thoughts came back to reality as he felt a duck stepping on his shoe. It had risked all and had started to eat the bread from right beneath Draco's bench. He looked in horror at the green, white and black mess the duck had left on his shoe, stood up, kicked at the duck, missed, and then watched as the four ducks flew away.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

The next morning, Draco came to the café. He saw Vivian sitting at another table. He didn't greet her; he wanted to show her that he was angry with her, too. She saw him but didn't say anything in greeting either. She swirled her spoon through her cocoa and ignored him.

Draco ordered his usual and began to drink it and read the paper he picked up as he walked into the café. He saw his story covering a large fire on the front page; he read it again, complimenting himself mentally on the fine job he did. He wanted to glance and see if Vivian was reading his article too.

He looked. She wasn't. She was reading the comics page.

He looked back down again at his paper. He unfolded it loudly.

Vivian's face showed no sign of even hearing him. Of knowledge of his existence.

_Probably not a fan of my work anymore..._

Draco finished his coffee and left the café. When he walked by the window, he saw Vivian had looked up; she was looking at the door as it had jangled, the bells set alive when he exited.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&&**

Clouds had unfurled over the sky, and he couldn't see the moon that night. He slept uneasily and woke in the middle of the night to the sounds of the tree outside his window, its branches thundering against his window. He stood, opened his window, and let the branches sway freely, then couldn't sleep until dawn, when he dozed for an hour and then woke for the day.

He walked to the café again, and this time sat with Vivian.

She glanced up and looked down again, raising her newspaper so she wouldn't see him.

"Alright, you're right. You got under my skin somehow and I feel bad now. I don't _want_ to feel bad about all this, but I do."

Vivian raised her eyebrows, "Lovely apology."

His stomach dropped.

She lowered the newspaper and looked at him, her face devoid of any emotion whatsoever, "You stayed up, thinking, tonight? You've become kind to Katie, or someone else you were previously unkind to? You've begun to do things randomly for no reason?"

He nodded, uncertainly, "Can you make it stop?"

She smiled, "You're out of the cage."

"So? Push me back."

"It's not like I put a spell on you. You're doing it willingly. You hate to admit it, but I'm right about some things. I'm right about living a fulfilled, happy life. I'm right about being optimistic, because when you're nice to random people you get somewhere. You got something out of being nice to Katie?"

"How do you know I'd be nice to her? You saw me arguing with her."

"You went straight to the café anyway to get ice cream. You were both laughing. For a minute I thought you staged a fight for me, for some reason," She laughed softly, "But then I realized you two are probably really alike."

"And you and I are _very _unalike."

"For now," Vivian said, and lifted a finger to her lips, "Shhh, now."

"Why?" He asked.

She motioned to her lap. There was a box there, with holes cut in the top, "He finally fell asleep."

"Who?"

"My cat! Shhh!"

"You bought a cat?"

"A kitten. Oh, he's awake again, can't you hear him?"

A soft mewing noise rang from the box. She lifted it to the table and prepared to open it, but Draco said, "I don't really like cats."

"You'll like him," she scooped her hand into the box and pulled out a little black kitten. It stumbled over Draco's fingers. Draco tried to keep a straight face but couldn't.

"He's kind of curious," the kitten sniffed his fingers and then licked his thumb with his rough tongue.

"He was so feisty the first few nights. He would bite my fingers and hide, now he's such a pussycat, he insists I take him _everywhere_ with me."

"You can walk through on my path if you want," Draco said, with some difficulty.

"Brom, you're too proud," She said finally.

"That's just how I am."

"You can be proud but be nice too. You don't have to see kindness as undermining yourself."

"So I guess you're some sort of new age guru for me now, just because I apologized?"

"I never once heard 'I'm sorry' from your lips."

He opened his mouth, to say he did, but he realized he didn't. Draco never apologized; he couldn't remember apologizing to anyone. He had learned to be that way since his bullying days in Hogwarts; he would have to be made to apologize for anything he did, and that was only if he was caught by a teacher; usually the student wouldn't expect any sort of apology.

"Too proud," She assessed.

"Well, how can you be proud and _not_ be cold to people?"

"You can be proud of being kind. Proud of yourself for not being pompous, that's the kind of pride you have," Vivian said.

Draco sighed, "I'm sadly starting to understand you. Notice my choice of wording here. Not, 'I'm starting to become like you'. I'm just starting to see your point of view. I doubt I'll be swayed to it, not by much anyway. I can be kind to my own family, like to Katie, but don't expect me to start taking in the homeless or giving out my money."

"Ah, the mind of a journalist at work," She said, "You're looking at points of view. That's good. I'm glad."

"Don't you hear what I'm saying? I'm fine the way I am for now, but I understand what you're trying to do with my life and accept it. We could even be friends, I suppose."

"The proud Brom Breeler extends an olive branch of peace to the lovable Vivian Crowe," she narrated, and stuck out her hand, "That's a big step I guess."

"I don't know if we'll be the kind of friends you're thinking of. I'm not used to making _friend _friends."

"How do you define a friend, and a _friend _friend?"

"A friend is just... I don't know, to me it meant someone that I could always have to ally with me, to watch my back in an argument and to help stick up for me if something went wrong."

"So they'd basically be your body guard and sacrifice themselves to you, but you wouldn't be the same to them vice versa."

"Yeah..." He still didn't like how she'd take what he said, which sounded rather okay, and rephrase it so that he sounded like a real asshole.

"And a _friend _friend?"

"I don't make them. Someone that you tell your secrets to, I guess. Someone you open up to, confide in. I never had one, and never thought I would."

"You want to _confide_ in me?" Vivian looked impressed, "you _have _done some soul searching."

"I said clearly that I might not be that kind of friend."

"You will," She grinned, "That face you're making! It looks like you're being sucked into a vortex of doom. You should smile. It takes less muscles, anyway."

He smirked at her.

"Close enough," She put the kitten back in the box, as it was trying to drink from her mug, "Silly kitten."

Draco wasn't sure whether she was referring to the cat or to him.

"You're right, I don't know why, but I do fancy you, by the way. You kind of slapped me in the face with that; I figured you'd be nicer to me if you knew," Vivian confessed.

He felt his ears get warm, and the hairs on his neck prickle. Why was she so open about everything? He was thrown off guard again. He felt like he was somewhat in control of the conversation until this point, now he was thrown off completely. She laughed and poked him, "You should come to my apartment sometime."

"I'm not - - I don't want to..." He felt nervous now, _Is she asking me out, kind of? Does she think I'll give her some one night stand or something?_

"Lesson one, when I ask someone to my apartment, it's out of good will, and I don't try to make them uncomfortable. Your personal space radius is like, a mile long. Don't worry, this is friends-only. I don't think I'd want to be anything but friends with someone as mean as you."

"Gee, thanks."

"So when will you come over?"

"The day you land a job at the paper."

"You said I was a shoo-in."

"You are. I'll come then."

"Nice, you actually intend to," Vivian grinned, "I knew you wouldn't handle being ignored by me out of nowhere. You're a good guy inside, somewhere."

He nodded and stood, " Well, I guess I said what I had to say."

"Thank you," She said to him, "And sorry for ignoring you."

"It bothered me," He didn't want to say it was okay. It wasn't okay, somehow he felt that she had tricked him into coming back to her. He felt he was in control, but now he wasn't sure again.

"Good. You have a conscience."

"I'm going before you get all new age on me."

"Alright, bye."

Draco left the café and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. It was a terrible habit, a Muggle sort of habit, but once he tried it he couldn't stop. He would smoke whenever he was stressed out.

He went through four cigarettes before he got to the path home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** I have nothing to say for once...

**Chapter Nine**

Vivian got the job the next day.

He found a copy of her resume, and sent an owl to her home, asking when she wanted him to come over, subliminally telling her she got the job.

He didn't read her reply when it came, not immediately. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to know what her response was. Not yet. He wasn't ready for people to respond to kindness from him yet. It felt like he was failing himself, his pride, what he'd shaped to be since his childhood.

Overall he felt good about it though.

**&&&&&&&&&&**

"Brom,

come whenever you'd like, except I'm sort of busy most of this

week. I'm going to be home Thursday and Saturday. So come whenever

you want on those days, but surprise me."

That was all she wrote. He couldn't read between the lines about what she thought of him. She was beginning to understand him too; that he was detached, and he _was_ full of himself, and he was horribly skittish about everything. He was like a bird that had been in a cage all his life, and when set on the windowsill between his cage and freedom, he'd still return to the cage, if he could. Except someone locked the cage again, and he felt uncomfortable with it still.

**&&&&&&&&&&&**

He didn't come Thursday, it was too soon. He decided to come Saturday. He didn't think about it much as he had procrastinated it a good week forward, but when he reached Friday evening he realized that he had to see her tomorrow.

Draco had to bathe Lucius that night; Lucius could manage to figure out what to do in a bathtub (pretty much hold still and let Draco do everything), but it was completely draining for Draco, both emotionally and physically. He felt ashamed of what his proud father had been reduced to.

No, he had to be proud of his family, his Malfoy-ness. Brom Breeler could be out, being kind, but privately, away from the world, Draco Malfoy was proud and alone. His family blood line rested with him. He didn't trust women, he didn't trust anyone. He didn't plan to tell Vivian his true identity; he decided to keep that away from her. He would never tell her; at least, that was how he felt at this current time.

He stayed up late into the night again Friday, thinking, mulling things through.

He got up from bed and wandered like a ghost through his new home, and found his feet leading him to the library. With its two-story high, beautiful windows, the top half of which were stained glass images of winged people, it was by far the most beautiful room in the house.

Draco sat down in the corner, not on a chair or recliner or sofa, but on the polished hardwood floor, where the expensive carpets didn't reach. He pulled out his wand and with a handy spell, he managed to light his wand so that it lit up his little corner. He pulled a book out from the shelf; he had all the books he hadn't read stocked to the left and the ones he had read on the right; and the ones he hadn't read spanned most of the library; its tall wooden shelves reaching to the very ceiling; a long ladder on wheels stood on the right side. Only a few shelves held the books he had read.

The book he had pulled out happened to be an old copy of an old witch or wizard's library staple; it was an old love story, somewhat like the Muggle _Romeo and Juliet_, but longer, and in first person from the point of view of the female.

Draco hadn't read it; he had typecast it as silly and overly romantic; now he opened it, realizing it could give insight on the female mind. He had never sought to understand women before. He felt strange, almost as if he was betraying part of himself, but curiosity permeated his thoughts.

His eyes looked at the illuminated page.

The heroine was making a speech, "Alas, I can barely envision myself with you securely; our parents are devout to their ideas; mine have weighed your character and find you unworthy, and a recreant to your own family, as our families have hated one another for so long. Unless we flee and wed in some unknown chapel and start a life from nothing, guided only by a handful of seeds in each pocket to sow and harvest in order to provide for our lives," and it droned on and on, for half the page, at which he flipped a few pages ahead and read, with agitation, that she was prone to going into long, detailed rants and speeches, in which she spoke her heart out entirely. He had never met a woman that sang her every thought and feeling like this, women had some sort of mystery to them.

Draco tried to remember his girlfriend that one sixth year, and how he managed to understand her. He could barely recollect anything about her.

_It's not like she's my girlfriend; I just don't understand what she wants with me,_ he thought to himself, _I need to know how to deal with it when the time comes. I can sense her trying to ask me out._

He thought over the few excuses he could use to worm his way out of dating her, but he had no idea which would work well with a girl; he would as a man understand the reasoning behind the excuses if a girl gave them, but girls were more sensitive. His father had once told him, as part of the sex-education talk they've had, that "women thought with their hearts and men with their heads".

_What's her heart thinking?_

Then another troubling thought floated to shore of the vast ocean of thoughts and feelings that he kept bottled up in this head, _and what will my head think of it, when the time comes?_

**&&&&&&&&&&**

At four in the afternoon, he knocked on Vivian's door. He hoped he had come just in time for tea time, so that they would have something to busy themselves with during his visit. He couldn't imagine filling the time otherwise; asking for sugar and stirring his tea would give him something to do.

"One minute," she called from inside.

His stomach fluttered upon hearing her voice. He was nervous about the entire visit. She knew he was skittish, so he didn't expect her to do anything crazy. Yet, Draco knew that perhaps something crazy would be just what she would want to do, as she liked to challenge him.

He leaned back on the banister; the apartment stairs were on the side of the building and he had to walk three floors to get to hers. He couldn't imagine walking up and down those steep iron steps; they creaked uncomfortably, and he felt someone should fix them with a few spells so that safety was assured. Draco could only imagine how terrible it would be during the winter, where the steps would freeze over.

The door swung open. He lost balance on the banister and one of his hands slipped backwards, and he caught himself before he careened backwards and fell three stories.

"Oh! Watch it!" Vivian exclaimed from the doorway. She had colored her hair a faint, delicate pink color.

"I'm okay," he said, then added, "your hair?" He specifically left out any comment that would hint that he liked it; but he did, it was delicate, and oddly feminine. It didn't even clash that much with what she was wearing. She had on a white button-up shirt tucked into a black skirt, and knee-high black socks and black shoes.

"Oh, I was trying to dye it red, I really don't like using spells to fix up my hair, I always mess up. But this time I messed up being all Muggle about it. I bleached it and the chemicals got screwy. I don't know if I like it," She realized she was talking to him in the doorway and stepped a few steps backwards and motioned for him to come in.

Draco walked into her apartment. It was messy; that he saw at once. There were half-finished art pieces propped up against the wall with the windows, the couch had a white sheet thrown over it and a pillow – where she slept, he figured – and there was just a bathroom and a kitchen adjacent to the room. The apartment was very small.

"Let's go to the kitchen," Vivian said.

He followed her and found her kitchen as cozy and tidy; with black and white checkered pillows on black chairs, a white crisp tablecloth and _yes_, a pot of tea on the table.

"Tea time?" He asked.

"Yes," She sat down at the table and poured some into a tea cup, then pushed it to his side of the table, "Have some. It's Lemon-Raspberry Delight."

Draco tasted it, " Oh, it's already sweetened."

"Is it too sweet?" Vivian asked.

"It's the way I like it," he drank half of it, quickly, not sure why he was taking it down so fast when he had intended to be slow and meticulous when he drank and ate, to fill up time.

"I'm glad you like it, I just bought it yesterday."

"It's nice," he looked around her kitchen and saw she had no photographs, no pictures hanging up, "Why don't you put up your art or something?"

She shook her head, " I never like it enough to keep it for myself. A good artist would never let go of a piece of they like it. I couldn't bare to let go of this one, for instance," she reached behind her and pulled out a black-and-white painting of a little girl holding a basket of flowers and a kitten peeking out, "but I don't like it enough to hang it up. So it's forever lost in between being mine for real and a for-sale."

"Complicated," he said, finally.

"Do you paint?"

"No."

"Draw?"

"I can draw a pretty good caricature of myself, or my parents," he said, "but that's all it is, a distorted picture. I'm not too good."

"Draw me," she handed him a quill and ink from the basket on the table. She had art supplies everywhere, he noted.

"On what?"

"On the tablecloth."

"I'll ruin it," Draco exclaimed.

"I do it all the time. I have at least ten tablecloths filled with ideas. When I'm hurrying through breakfast I don't have time to get out my sketchbook," Vivian explained to him.

He began to draw, uncertainly, sketching out her head; he made her eyes large and doe-like, her nose small and jutting in a slope downwards slightly; he drew the faintest spattering of freckles across her face and then drew a bold, thick few lines to show a dramatic inward curve of her hair, then a delicate swoop of her neck. He sketched in the straps of a black tank top just so she didn't appear nude, as his mind informed him a few seconds after drawing her shoulder.

"It's great," She said, laughing, "even the freckles look about right."

"It's not my best, I haven't tried to draw you before," he said apologetically, anyway, "I can do a good one of myself."

"Go ahead. Wait, am I in a bra?"

"_No_," he said hurriedly, then drew in a sleeve immediately, "it's a shirt."

"I'm just teasing you."

"Hmm."

"Sketch yourself beside me."

He did; his hair was pulled back on one side behind his ear, on the other casting over his cheek in a delicate wave, tilting inwards; his face was thinner, with exaggerated cheekbones, but handsome; his nose also swooped down, but a little more severely; his eyes were average-sized and thoughtful-looking. He started on the mouth and chose to make it just a thin, slightly wavering line, where his upper lip curved to two delicate points, just faintly suggesting a little, very loose "m" shape. He looked sad in it.

"It's great," Vivian said, "kind of depressing though."

Draco shrugged.

"So, want something to eat?"

"Not really," he admitted, "I ate before I came here."

"Yeah, right, you're anorexic I bet, look at how thin you're getting. You must have lost at least a stone or something, in the time I've known you," She said critically. She stood and pulled out a plate of cookies from a cabinet, "any man that says no to my cooking is a fool."

He saw how appetizing they looked and took one, eating it in intervals with sips of tea.

"So, what's the problem?" Vivian asked, "Just no appetite?"

"No, I have an appetite," Draco said, "these are really good," he took a second one, "I just forget to eat a lot, and I walk around a whole lot."

"Yeah," she nodded, "I'm at least two stones overweight."

"Nah," he said, " really?"

"Look," She stood up and turned around. He never really noticed her body. She was always huddled in all these black clothes. She did have rather bountiful curves, but she didn't look overweight, she looked a little cuddly, he figured.

"You're exaggerating," Draco said.

"I could probably curl you up and fit you in my body, we probably weigh the same, but you're a good head taller than me too, I'm so short," Vivian laughed, "Most of my brothers always towered over me."

"I wasn't this tall when I was younger. I grew a lot my seventeenth year, I guess. I look so much older. I looked kind of young before, a little baby faced maybe. I don't know what happened."

"Good genes, let me tell you, you could've been five stones overweight and absolutely ghastly-looking as a kid, but the moment you finish growing, your good genes fix everything," Vivian said, sighing, "My Mum's round, my father's medium I guess; all my brothers are average-looking, so am I."

"Good genes?"

"Look at you. Fair, blonde, blue-eyed, tall, slender; you get the whole package. My family pretty much packs it in as plain looking."

"Heh," he said, softly, peering into his now empty tea cup.

"Want more?"

"I'm fine."

"There's not much to do here, but it's a little better than the café, I think. More comfortable. You can kick back and relax at home, but you have to sort of keep yourself pulled together out at the café."

"You looked pretty confident there."

"I like it better here," She shrugged.

"It's a nice kitchen," He offered, then shrugged too.

"Aren't _we_ an awkward pair, though," Vivian said, "If you combined me with you we'd get this odd, perfectly normal person. We're on polar ends about a lot of things."

"I've done some thinking," Draco offered, "I'm not close-minded, don't think I don't think things through."

"I know you do, your articles are always thought through."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," She grinned, "What're you thinking about? You're spacing out."

"Just... nothing much," He had been thinking about leaving; he was wondering how long he could gage his stay so that it looked polite but not too interested in her home. He estimated that an hour would do, but barely ten minutes had crawled by as of now.

Vivian glanced out her window, where an owl perched.

"Oh! Here, see this," She opened the window and took the letter from the owl. It hopped onto a perch jutting out of her wall and preened itself.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's a letter from Harry Potter. I wrote to him and said you moved in," She told him, a little nervously, "You ought to give Harry a try, I can sense you don't like him; Jeez, look how big your eyes got when I said it's from Harry."

"What's he got to say about me moving in?" Draco said, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"He says he didn't know someone moved in. You live quite a distance from his house, even though you're on the same street."

"I knew that _he_ lived on the street."

"They said they'll stop by and bring something... here, let me read it... Hermione wrote for him, they're married, it's very sweet... oh, here we go: ' I think I'll stop by sometime with a cake or something, to welcome them in. I've heard of Brom Breeler; there's all this mystery behind who he is. I'll try sometime this week'... Now, what're you looking so horrified for?"

"I don't want to see them," He exclaimed, "How horrible, you shouldn't have written to them about me, I thought you'd keep some privacy between you and I and be respectful of the fact that I'm... eh, a celebrity I guess, I want to live anonymously."

She blanched a little, "Did I really screw up?" Her brown eyes were disarming.

"No," Draco sighed, then pinched the little pink corners of his eyes across the bridge of his nose, "Ah, hell, just say that I wish to keep private and that I won't open the door, and not to take offense. That I'm a hermit or something." _They'll know it's me immediately; they'll see the family photographs on the walls, and my father and mother, and know I'm Draco Malfoy, and I can kiss anonymity goodbye. All my interviews; everything; the way I get scoop on people; they would never confess to a Malfoy, from the Slytherin house, knowing it was me._

"I will," Vivian said, "Then I should warn you, they said they might stop by this evening."

"I'll leave soon," Draco said, uncomfortably.

"I'm really sorry," She said, smiling uncertainly at him, "Are you mad?"

"A little," he shrugged again, "as long as you can take care of it and fix it I won't care. Just be careful what you say to people," he added after a bit of a pause.

"I will," Vivian nodded to herself, "I should have realized you wanted anonymity, picking a house such a long walk from the road. Well, as long as we're keeping things private between us, maybe you'll invite me to _your_ house. I won't tell them anything."

_You will if you find out I'm Harry's complete, utter enemy, _he thought nervously, _crap, what do I say to this? _"Maybe." _I'll have to stay in every day, so that Mother doesn't let her in by accident. She'd know for sure, everyone knows what Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy look like; look how many times they've both been in the paper. Not to mention the family name written on the doorway and the M's decorating the gate out of the garden. There's just no way..._

"Sorry, again," She said, patting his back. He hadn't realized she was standing behind him, "You ought to get a move on then, if you want to avoid the Potters."

"I'll go," He said.

"It was nice, but too short. I'll come by sometimes and surprise you."

"Eh... alright... but wait a while, okay?"

"Why?"

"We're still unpacking, decorating... uh, we're just not ready, it doesn't look presentable."

"And my home does?" She shrugged, "Fine, I'll respect that though, it makes sense."

"Yeah..." He looked at his hands, uncertainly.

"Bye, then, I'll walk you to the door."

He turned while leaving through her door and asked, "Maybe we'll meet up in the café or something, before I'm ready to take you to my home." _Maybe I can procrastinate it by seeing her at the café for a while._

"Sure," She smiled, "You're getting nicer every day, did you notice?"

"I'm just growing used to you, I think," he responded.

She squeezed his arm, above his elbow, and said, "Alright, see you sometime."

"Good bye," he said, half of his sentence cut off from her range of hearing as she shut the door. He thought about knocking again, saying something, but he couldn't figure out why and what he wanted to say. He turned and began a nervous journey down the steep steps, squeezing the railing gently. His eyes never looked up; he managed to avoid the pigeon shit and the part on the second floor that swayed, and once he was on solid ground he looked up at the stairway again.

Pigeons cooed and fluttered about. A feather was floating just above his head in a gust of wind. Draco turned and started the journey home, his stomach warm from tea and fresh cookies.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** Other thank chapter 14, this is my favorite chapter... I'm considering adding more chapters to giving certain characters from the ending that get mixed up in the fiasco some more space; to evolve the massive conflicts, etc. So, I'll get writing again as I've slacked off, thinking I was good with being at 14 and so ahead. (groan)

**Chapter Ten**

Draco flipped through a book, sitting at his window, when he saw a bird tapping against his window pane. Or, rather, it had fallen onto it, its broken wing tucked under its body, his clawed feet scratching the window, trying to get right-side up again. He pulled open the window, inwards, and gathered it in his hands.

It nuzzled into his warm palm. It was a sparrow; it was small and delicate, and it defecated on his pants within minutes of him holding it. He sighed and stood, realizing he had little luck with birds and their emissions.

He put it inside a laundry basket, with a jar lid full of water and another with bread and seeds that Narcissa had bought for a bird feeder that was out in the garden. He covered the basket with a towel and watched the bird hop about. Meanwhile he opened his old spellbook and found a spell to get the bird's hurt wing in a splint. Draco cast the spell and the bird seemed relieved; he began to hop around happily, singing, munching on seeds.

Draco set the basket down opposite him by the window, pulled the window closed, and continued reading, interrupted from time to time by the sparrow's voice, prompting him to lower the book and glance at the bird thoughtfully.

He could imagine him healing within the course of the next week or two, and the parting that would have to occur as he would let him back into the wild. This pessimistic thought hung over him like a ghost and he worried about becoming accustomed to the bird, for he'd just have to let it go.

Yet he pushed the thought away, angry at himself a little; he would enjoy the bird while it was here. He would write at his desk and listen to its songs, and be happy for it when he'd let it free.

Draco wasn't sure which thought he felt was truest to what he felt inside; both echoed some part inside of him.

Perhaps that indecisive, uneasy feeling was the feeling he felt the most, after all.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

He sat in the café early the next morning, waiting for Vivian to make her characteristic entrance; in which she'd energetically pull the door outwards and send the bells into a gleeful chiming chorus, and then walk right up to him. She didn't come, however, and so he finished his newspaper and walked home, not even thinking twice about why she wasn't there. He didn't think of any cause and effect; such as, she could be sick, or she could be hurt. He simply let it go.

Only that evening, while petting the little sparrow, he realized something could have happened to Vivian. He thought about sending an owl but all the envelopes left in his room bore the Malfoy crest, and he didn't want to ask for an envelope from Narcissa, as she'd probably ask who he was writing to and why.

So he let his worried thoughts run through his mind, and fell asleep at a normal time but he dreamed a dark dream where there was a great epidemic of some sort of disease, wherein citizens were dying everywhere, and England was falling to ruin. He woke up twice from the dream and fell asleep into it again; he was one of the few people that could change the course of a dream, realizing he was dreaming as he dreamt. He managed to push past the disastrous illness sweeping the nation, but he reflected on the people that had died in the dream; he had found his father cold in his bed; his mother alive but ill, and Vivian dead at the foot of the iron steps, too weak to climb them from illness.

When he took over the dream, he dreamt lazily of a hot summer vacation years ago with his parents; it wasn't that much of a tangent from the dream as he remembered how they had all gotten horrible indigestion from something and had spent the last few days running to and from the bathroom.

He woke up and went to the café, but she wasn't there again that morning. He reconsidered writing; he thought of going to a store and buying unmarked envelopes for the cause; yet he felt ridiculous for wanting to go to such lengths, probably only to find out she was busy with a painting.

Perhaps he could visit?

The thought moved back and forth, considered, reconsidered, re-reconsidered, but he kept finding excuses not to; like leading her on, or just disappointing himself, or making a fool of himself.

Therefore, he decided, he wouldn't go.

&&&&&&&&&&&

****

The third day of her absence, he bought envelopes but couldn't put together a coherent letter without sounding like a worried, matronly figure; _are you sick? Are you alright? I sort of miss you, a little._

Did he miss her? Or was he used to her being a part of his life now, and he felt like he was losing control because she left his daily schedule? Did he control her? Or was she an ever-changing variable in his life, bringing new things in and taking old things out?

He didn't know for sure.

_Women!_

_&&&&&&&&&&&&_

****

Five days of absence; a letter was formed and sent. Worried-sounding or not, he had to know. He waited all day at home, but there was no reply. He was struck by an odd muse though, and after writing the letter, he wrote two good stories, one of which his boss put on the front page; the second, on the other side. That night he found out that his father had gotten sick; a paranoid reminder of his dream entered his mind and he sat the rest of the night beside his father with Narcissa, who looked as if she herself were dying, slipping away.

He could recall being a little boy, worrying about how his parents would die someday; and now he felt it coming close, like an inevitable cold hand, reaching out, thin and bony, for him; for his parents; and he hated the thought.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He sent another letter to her.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

After a week, Draco went to Vivian's home, utterly baffled as to why she was gone. He stood by the door and found a doorbell; he rang it, but nobody came to the door. He fiddled around behind the flower pots, peeking in them and behind them; he found that there was a spare key tucked into the sprawling leaves of a fern.

He had no inhibitions at all of entering someone's home on whim. His feet knocked over a s tack of mail at her door; Draco lifted it and carried it in under his arm. He saw Vivian, wrapped in 2 blankets and smelling like a nose-cleansing herbal rub; she croaked, "Mum?"

"No, it's me," Draco said.

"Wow, hi, sorry... I can't even move without getting dizzy," she said, "I only get up to go to the bathroom or throw up," She looked worn out just by talking to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and then realized the weight of the words – his first apology in a very long time – and he added why, "for intruding."

She coughed loudly, " I hate doctors. I never take medicine. I'm so weird, I want to sleep this flu through," She coughed the last sentence entirely.

"You were gone all week. I wrote," he said, forlornly, "I'm going to fetch a doctor for you."

"I always rest these through," Vivian protested.

"You compromise with _my _ideas for once, okay? I've compromised a lot to fit you, remember."

"If you really, really want to," She turned her head and looked at him. Her hair had faded to a white-blonde color, a little lighter than his; her eyes looked big because her eyeliner had smudged and made them stand out. She looked weary but oddly attractive in her weakness. He felt control surging back towards his side in their relationship with each other; now he was in charge, guiding her, not vice versa, "I look horrid," she croaked, seeing him look at her so intently.

"No, you just look ill," he sat at the end of the couch. She uncurled her feet from her body and her toes touched his leg. He patted her feet uncertainly, "I wrote twice."

"My Mum must've, too... and the Potters. I wrote them about your desire for privacy and sent out my owl. I keep my word, even when I'm feeling like shit."

"You didn't have to, if you were so sick. Maybe you're feverish," he said.

"Just a bit," She confessed.

He stood and placed his cool hand on her forehead and exclaimed, "if you get any warmer you'll set yourself on fire!"

She broke into a wavering, cough-like laugh, "Thanks, Mum."

He motioned at the stack of letters he was holding under his arm, "I brought in all your mail," He offered helplessly, feeling stupid for intruding but also relieved about finding out why she was gone so long.

"How'd you get in? I've charmed the door from lock-pickers and the like."

"I found the spare."

"Was it hidden really obviously?" She looked disappointed.

"No, no, it took a good five minutes and some weird finger-moving," he joked.

"You're quite the Good Samaritan out of nowhere," she said, her face no smiling quite warmly.

"I'm not one big asshole, or some stone-cold, uh... stone. I'm not completely immune to friendship and kindness."

"So we're friends? Real friends?"

He saw the expectant, hopeful expression on her face, and the curious glow of her eyes and he said, unable to dodge the question, "Yes."

"Thanks," Vivian reached her hand out to him.

He grasped her hand and held it. She laughed, "No! The letters, silly!"

He colored and gave her the letters instantly.

She pulled out the ones with his name and return address – or, rather, Brom Breeler's name – and she opened them, "Let's see what you wrote." He wanted to sprint from the room, completely humiliated by his own panicking scrawl on the folded sheet of paper she found first. " _Vivian_," she started, then asked, "No dear?"

"Only when I write to my mother," he responded.

"I see," She continued, "_Are you doing alright? I haven't seen you for a while. I found this bird with a broken wing and took it in for the time being. Is your kitten still around? I didn't see it when I visited. Maybe you're out and about too, visiting your family, but its been a while. Brom_."

She folded it and then pulled out a little ball with a bell in it and rattled it. Within seconds a noisy gallop emerged from the bathroom and flooded into the living room. Draco smiled a little at the little creature as it pranced around the ball, its fur bristling in excitement.

"So that answers your question," Vivian said, "You look completely different when you smile."

He didn't know how to reply.

She laughed at that, too, "You're like a trapped griffin or something, your eyes look so bewildered."

"Well, I'm still worried," he said lamely.

"You can't handle compliments, that's all," she scolded, "You don't even say thank you."

"I don't agree with most compliments," he admitted.

"I haven't really lied to you, so you ought to believe I'm sincere," She said and coughed for a while after speaking.

Draco wrote a hasty note during that time to the Doctor, "It's my doctor, he's very good, and he'll definitely help you," he changed the subject.

"I think my owl's gone. The Potters are probably watching it, I directed him from here to their house last."

"I'll send it with my owl from home and direct him to come here. I'll tell him where the key's hidden."

"Alright, you seem hell-bent on," coughing ensued, then, "on getting a doctor. Excuse me."

"He'll be here this evening, I'll make sure of it," he said.

"Mmm, don't try to get him out of his office just to come see me," Vivian said, " That'll cost too much."

"I never said _you'll _pay."

Jeez, what happened to you?"

"I've got my father dying at home. I reconsidered a lot of things. He's on his deathbed. I've thought about the hole left in my life, if he were to be taken. There'd be a hole if you just disappeared, too."

"I'm sorry about your father," Vivian said softly.

"I can't stay long, I'm due at home, my mother wants me to keep vigilance at my father's side," Draco explained.

"Yet you came here, leaving your father's deathbed," she raised her eyebrows, "I'm flattered, no, really, I am!" She noticed him looking at the ground, embarrassed.

"I should leave," he said.

"We didn't read your second letter," She pointed out.

"I'll visit again, if I don't see you soon," he said.

"Alright, I hope I'll see you at the café, then," She waved feebly, sniffling.

He nodded, " Good-bye."

"Don't worry too much! Good-bye," She called after him.

Draco left, closing the door, and he returned the key to its hiding place. He walked down the stairs, moving like a cat, quick and silent. He stalked quickly down the street, his eyes sliding off the buildings around him, the sun shining in his eyes and flashing colors in blots when he blinked.

Just as Vivian had said, he had been moved to look out for someone that he knew, maybe even was friends with. He was doing things for no reason, other than to be good, (a "good person" like Vivian); and he above all didn't know why.

He couldn't escape the feeling, however, that his mind was crafting him a cage, a way to recede and stay away; for his heart was searching for freedom and for room to let Vivian in. He felt lost somewhere between his head and his heart, thrashing like a bird with a broken wing.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

He thought a lot that night, staying up until bleak sunrise with Lucius. Lucius' face was white as snow, and his cheeks were drawn. He would open his mouth, his dry lips cracking and bleeding, and Draco would hold a cup to his lips. He was petrified with fear; just days ago he had wished for his father's death, to end his pained existence, but now he sobbed in the corner of his father's room, hoping that he would live to see another day.

Draco was startled from his despair, which had added weights his eyelids and brought him close to sleep; Lucius was forming coherent words, "Draco... son..."

He stood and sat on the chair adjacent to the bed. Narcissa had fallen asleep on the cot he had brought into the room. He heard her slow, whistling breath and his father's raspy, rattling sighs.

Draco touched his father's hand.

Lucius opened his pale eyes, one with a cataract hazing it whiter; he lifted his hand slowly and grasped his son's wrist with unexpected strength.

"Father?" Draco asked, uncertainly.

"My son," he babbled, then closed his eyes. Draco could feel his grip loosening on his wrist and lifted the cup to his lips again, but he felt Lucius's hands fall to the bed's surface, his cold fingers caressing his son's skin.

He watched Lucius with bated breath. His father's breath was no longer present in the room. His mother was the only one breathing.

Draco felt the sting of tears as he rushed out a quick breath; he couldn't fight his tears any longer. He knelt by his father, pulling his eyes closed, and then pressed his father's hand to his own wet, cold cheek.

He stood to wake Narcissa, his fingers touching her white shoulder, for the first time in many years. She stirred awake from her light sleep and whispered, "Draco? Is something..." The silence surrounding her shuddering breath and his muted tears spoke a thousand words. She stood immediately and rushed to Lucius's bedside, her hand covering her mouth. She let out a loud, sorrowful moan, "Oh, oh, Lucius, oh," her fingers danced across her husband's arm.

"He..." Draco lost his voice.

NArcissa's silver-laced hair glowed like a Madonna's in the moonlight. Her beautiful, diamond-studded earrings shivered as she wept.

Draco saw her pull at her necklace, tearing it off; pearls bounced and rolled across the floor. She pulled out her earrings, suddenly disgusted with the impressive wealth she had on her body, and its meaninglessness. She yanked off a bracelet and threw it at the floor, and, somewhat calmed, she cried in silence.

Draco felt an unbearable urge to hug her; he didn't know where it came from exactly, but he felt it was somehow implanted in his mind by Vivian. Yet, seeing his mother crying, he felt like an adult, finally; somehow wiser but also sadder, the sort of pervading sadness that he had never before known. He slipped from the room and sat on his bed a few rooms down the hallway. He could see the new morning playing over the trees in the distance; Draco stood and drew the lace and cover curtains, then clutched the red, silk curtain to his mouth and face, wiping tears off. He dressed for the new day, ignoring his own needs for sleep. He couldn't imagine sleeping or eating with his father's dead body in the mansion.

He sent a letter, his second in twenty four hours, to his doctor. He asked him to help arrange a private, small funeral. Draco had seen a few gravestones at the edge of the garden, jutting out through the soil like flat, large teeth. Draco felt Lucius would be buried there among the others; he didn't know whether the dead were pureblood or Mudblood, it didn't matter. Dead was dead.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

****

Two days passed. Draco attended the burial, then went to the café, wanting caffeine to smoothen his frail nerves. He had submitted an obituary to the Daily Prophet, and pretended he was Brom Breeler, intercepting the Malfoy letter and then writing the obituary, singing praises to Lucius.

Now Draco sat in the café, needing the coffee, for he hadn't slept more than three hours for the past three nights. He didn't take a newspaper; he didn't check to see the obituary in print. Nothing seemed to matter much.

Vivian came after he had sat there, nearly immobile, for ten minutes. His coffee was no longer steaming gray in the air above it, rather, it had swallowed the whipped cream and white chocolate and took on a swirled, black and white surface. She saw his miserable face and sat by him, tugging off a purse she had on with her today, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really," he lied, and added, "I got drunk yesterday."

"Why? Because I wasn't in the café?" She saw his face, completely serious and devoid of any humor, and said, "I'm just kidding. Sorry." She grew silent, watching his face, waiting for a sign of life, " Blink? Once for yes? Twice for no?"

He stirred his coffee and drank from it, displeased with how quickly it cooled down, then said, "I guess I'm still completely knocked out of it."

"I hope you don't do it in front of Katie."

"_Do _it?" He looked at her, for a minute processing it as something quite incorrect that she could be implying.

"Drink!" She swatted at him with her hand, "Jeez, get on the ball, man. It's a brand new day. Put away the bottle!"

Draco smirked, feeling lighter just being around her, "I suppose you wouldn't mind taking a walk with me? I need someone to make me feel better. Seeing someone even more pathetic than I am puts me in good spirits."

She sparred back with him, "I guess sacrificing an hour of my time to a rude cretin would count as social service."

"For your jail sentence, I'm sure."

"Niced someone to death."

"Tough way to go."

They exchanged angry glances, both feigning it, and Draco felt himself smiling and laughing again. Vivian did too, then reached into her purse and pulled something out and pushed it into his hands, "Wear this sometime? Please?"

He unbundled whatever it was and saw that it was a black trenchcoat.

"_Why_?" He asked.

"Have you seen the Muggle movie, "The Matrix"?" She asked, "On film, put out by that radio station about Muggle life and art?"

"No," Draco lied, for he had felt like he was somehow supporting Muggles by watching it; he thought of them like of Mudbloods before. Saying "no" felt bad, however, so he added, "Well, yes, but a long time ago," so it wasn't a lie. He felt he ought to be sincere to her, as she was sincere to him.

"Trench coats are in again, try it," she said, "You don't always have to wear that silly blazer of yours."

"Don't think you'll get me to cross the reasonable bounds of clothing styles; I'm comfortable the way I am."

"I know," Vivian took a pair of black gloves out, "look at how cool these are." She tugged them on. They were ball-room gloves; beautiful, shimmering and long, past her elbows.

"Did you go to a rummage shop or something?"

"Vintage everything," She confessed, "from a thrift store. My family wasn't averse to going there, lots of kids, too little money."

It reminded him of the Weasleys. He pushed the thought away; Vivian wasn't like them; he couldn't explain why exactly but he just didn't want to lump her with _them;_ Potter's friends. A realization dawned on him – she probably knew them too, if she knew Harry Potter. He said, "Do you know the Weasleys?"

"Do _you_?" She asked.

"Not very well," He replied, "interviewed them once," he covered, just in case she asks them about Brom Breeler and finds that they only knew a Draco of that description; "their family layout is kind of like yours."

"Nah," She shrugged, "I don't know them well either."

He finished his coffee, "Let's take that walk then."

"Fine," Vivian sighed, "Maybe I can nice _you _to death, too, and cross you off my daily to-do lists."

"Do _how_?" He asked, hoping he wasn't pushing the envelope too far, or being too perverted. He felt like his much younger self with this verbal sparring.

"Wouldn't _you _like to know," She frowned at him critically.

They exited and he walked with her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Major teasing on My PART! No spoilers really, just going to get you salivating to know.**

Perhaps Vivian is a character that has suffered a character change, a mental change, perhaps started eating more, living a fulfilled and maybe even a little indulgent and sinful life? Who says her curves aren't a little bit on the chubby male side? Who says she's not Hermione, unfaithful to Harry, staying away from home in search of "companions", gothing out and releasing what she always wanted to be (using Ron's position in the Weasley family to help cover it up)? Why else would she constantly walk the street Harry _and _Draco live on?

What if it _is _Ron Weasley, alienated from his family after coming out gay, cross-dressing as he had a long time (with only Harry on his side, understanding him)? And he roams Harry's street, staying with him sometime, for need of company, other times at the dingy little apartment, in utter loneliness?

What if it is Ginny, developed into an artist during Hogwarts, inspired to become a goth and to sit around drinking absinthe, smoking cloves, and enjoying herself in goth bars?

Maybe it is a total stranger, just like Vivian appears, with no secret agenda, and I've had everyone sleuthing for no reason, creating a great deal of suspense, as authors can do? Misleading has worked so far, if I had misled, with all my teasers.

Perhaps it is someone like Colin, or another minor character watching from afar, impersonating others in the Erikson-like journey to find oneself and to make an identity (often done, as I learned in reading Psych books, by searching for intimacy, sapping identity from past lovers to create a new, patchwork, "improved" self).

Heh, that's where I get all the twisted inner-thinking, personality-types and twists; I read a LOT of books about a lot of things. (Heheh, I'd add, I almost wrote "thighs" rather than things. How quickly this chapter could have turned pornographic.) Okay, I'll cut with the bad comedy.

We'll find out the first big secret in THIS CHAPTER! One of the above is exactly true, by the way!

Sorry Gary, for the taunting teaser, and for the Draco/Brom error. Fixed it.

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**Chapter Eleven**

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They walked down the path that lead to the Malfoy Mansion. He saw her look at the flowers that led visitors towards the final curve of the path and to the doorway. Draco knew the Malfoy insignia was on the doors, and there were entire clusters of photographs of the Malfoys in the Entrance Hallway. Letting her see his home would be the ultimate trust, the last step to seal their friendship – if they were truly friends, she would accept his identity and keep it secret from her friends, especially the Potters. The Malfoys had moved into the neighborhood without any hubbub, there wasn't a single person on the street they lived on that knew the identity of the new family.

"Do you want to see the manor?" He asked her, his eyes looking directly into hers, warning her about this important decision; freeing himself from responsibility as it was now her choice.

Vivian grinned, "Of course!"

Draco led her through the final bend of the path and they stood side by side, looking at the enormous manor. Vivian's mouth flew open in surprise, "It's _beautiful_!" She ran to the fountain, eyeing it, running her fingers on the soft moss that shrouded the birch trees around the fountain's pool.

She turned, her black skirt swirling across her legs, and looked at the large black double-doors, with the family crest and insignia – along with a beautiful Gothic letter M – carved into the wood. He waited to hear her say in shock, "You're a Malfoy?", but she didn't recognize the carvings. She turned to face him. He could see her gazing at him from the corner of his eye as he looked up to examine his own home, as if it was his first time seeing it as well.

Vivian sat on the stone steps leading to the manor's entrance hall. She reached into her purse and pulled out a camera, "Can I? Please?" She asked, " It looks just like the setting of my new story."

"Go ahead," he replied.

Vivian turned and took pictures of the garden, fountains, and then the sprawling, dark mansion. Before he realized, she took a photograph of him, too. He turned and she took one of him facing her, just as he asked, "What do you need me in there for?"

"My photo album," Vivian said.

"I don't photograph well."

"Neither do I; I always cut off the head or the legs," she joked, pretending that this was what me meant.

Draco rolled his eyes, his stomach knotting nervously, and asked, "Are you sure that you want to go inside?"

"I'm positive. Why?"

"Nothing," he pulled open the doors. It was dark inside compared to the sunlit weather outside. Draco moved indoors first and Vivian followed him second. They stood and waited for their eyes to adjust.

Before them was the gold-banister Grand Stairway, leading to the servant quarters and bedrooms upstairs. Rose was their only servant for now; Narcissa was going to send out letters for servants. Rose walked by the two of them and paused, seeing that Draco had brought home a lady. She asked, "Well! Who's this?" Draco was relieved she didn't refer to him as Master Malfoy, as she tended to do.

"It's my friend, Vivian Crowe," Draco told her. Vivian curtsied playfully towards Rose.

"Are you his mother?" Vivian asked.

"No, I'm just a live-in servant," Rose chuckled, "the lady of the house is upstairs. I'll ask her to come down if you would like."

"It's fine," Draco said.

Rose shuffled away and Draco turned around again and saw Vivian looking at the portrait gallery in the next room – the living room. Past it was the library and a grand ballroom.

He moved towards her, ready to explain. She was silent, looking at a picture of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco (he was 13 in it); Her eyes widened in surprise, "Are you related to the Malfoys?"

"Yes," Draco said uneasily.

She looked at the consecutive photographs. They followed Draco as he grew and matured from picture to picture. Then, no photos hung to capture the few months that it took for him to grow upwards at an ungodly pace, to lose all the baby fat on his face and body; just a final photograph of him, alone, at nineteen, looking quite different, quite adult.

"Are you..." Her voice died in her throat in surprise.

"Draco?" Narcissa called, descending the staircase.

Vivian's hand covered her mouth.

Draco lookeda t his mother and said, "Yes, Mother?"

Narcissa approached them. Vivian stared at Narcissa, her face blank and even paler than it was normally. Her hand fell from her mouth to her side and she gathered enough strength to say, "Uh, my name is Vivian Crowe, I work at the Daily Prophet with Draco."

"How nice," Narcissa's eyes surveyed Vivian's entire body, from her newly colored black hair, to her eyeliner-traced eyes, and down her black shirt and floor-length black skirt. Narcissa smiled, but Draco could tell she disapproved.

"I'm showing her our home," Draco said hastily.

"Oh, excuse me for interrupting, go ahead," NArcissa stepped aside, and Draco moved past her. Vivian followed him, looking at the ground; Draco led her up the staircase and to his room, where he shut the door, put the trenchcoat on his desk, then turned and faced her.

"You're Draco Malfoy," She whispered, stunned.

He nodded, "Brom Breeler is my penname. I wanted to... to keep anonymity, so I could get better interviews, more scoop; I luckily don't look much like my parents or my childhood self. I ..." He began to explain but halted, seeing her eyes looking at him in a completely different way.

"I can't believe it, I can't, I don't know why I didn't notice," she muttered to herself.

"Did you _know_ me when I was younger?" Draco ventured.

She looked away and shook her head, "No, but I heard of you. Heard you and your family were awfully proud, completely prejudiced against most people; haughty, pompous, stuffy purebloods."

"That's us, alright."

She looked at him, " I'm just really shocked. I guess - - I guess there _is _good in the Malfoy family, after all."

Draco sighed, "I'm sorry for misleading you. I felt... strange, I suppose; as if I could do certain things as Brom Breeler that Draco Malfoy was too proud to do," He felt he was justified in his actions.

Vivian sat on his window's cozy, blanket-lined seat and plucked at the towel on the laundry basket. She lifted it and saw the bird in it. He was already off the splint. He flew out of the basket and knocked against Draco's chest, then landed on Vivian's shoulder. "Is this your bird?" She asked cheerfully. Draco relaxed. An unspoken forgiveness occurred between them; the worst was over and he didn't care any longer.

"Yes. Can we please keep my identity a secret? Between us?"

She nodded her head vigorously, "Of course," Her finger stroked the little sparrow.

"Let's set him free."

"Are you ready to?" She put her hand over the pigeon and held him in between her two cupped hands, warming its little body.

"He's healed," Draco said. He pulled open his window. A warm wind rushed into the room, and Vivian held her hands out of the window. "Ready?" She called over the whistle of the wind.

"Go!" He replied enthusiastically, leaning forwards.

She pulled her hands apart. The sparrow's black eye stole a last glance of Draco and Vivian and leapt from her hands. The warm updraft carried him as his wings fluttered open from his sides. He chirped triumphantly and flew into the trees. Seconds later, an entire flock of sparrows soared from the row of birches and sailed into the distance.

He realized she had pressed up against him, her back to his chest, her hands held out into the wind. He felt an unfamiliar tug of desire inside that he didn't like. Draco stepped back and closed the window, forcing her to withdraw her hands.

"Wow," Vivian said.

He sat on his bed and cracked his knuckles. There was a funny atmosphere between them suddenly. She laughed easily but she was nervous too, or at least a bit uneasy. She plopped herself on the bed beside him, once again challenging his personal space. He felt the crackle of electric-like discomfort in him, raising the hairs on his neck.

Vivian turned her face to look at him, her nose centimeters from his right cheek. He stood at once, as if a magnetic force that repelled him from her side.

She watched him pace the room, then lean on his desk, half-sitting on the corner of it. Draco said, piercing the silence, "I'm almost done with my newest story for the paper. Did you write yours?"

"I started," She said, then added hesitantly, "I think I'll keep it to myself though, and write about something else. It turned out way too personal... about my family and stuff."

"I'd avoid it too, then. These damn feel-good, happy-go-lucky articles," he sighed, "at least you finally came to the Prophet; all your writing comes off as happy and kind, and you'll just do all those articles and leave the hard stuff to what I and the others are used to."

"Good, I like them," Vivian said.

They sat in silence again.

"Wow, so you're Draco Malfoy."

"I changed quite a bit, from the face, the body. You've seen the pictures downstairs, how awkward I was," Draco confided, "I was way shorter than some of my classmates by seventh year. I grew a whole lot in about eight month's time."

"No wonder you're tall and thin now. You were stretched length-wise," There was more silence.

"Show me around, then," Vivian suggested, "What's your favorite room in the entire mansion?"

"Oh! The library," Draco said, "It's absolutely gorgeous."

He opened the bedroom door, relieved to finally leave his room. Vivian exited, a few steps behind him. "I can't believe how big this place is, how grand," She ran her fingers down the gold banister, "I'm scared to touch anything."

Draco grinned, "I grew up accustomed to great wealth, luckily; so I'm not too intimidated. My father..." He stopped. A look of depression crossed his face and Vivian noticed it immediately, and looked lost as to what was wrong, but then she realized that Lucius Malfoy had died just a few night before; she felt taken aback and whispered, "Oh, Draco, your _father..._"

He shook his head, " He wasn't well, he was out of his mind ever since the stroke really changed him. It's another reason us Malfoys kept such a low profile since the fall of You-Know-Who."

Vivian put her hand on his elbow, yet it felt like a very intimate touch. She said, "I'm so sorry, I didn't lose anyone from my immediate family, I have no idea how awful it must be," She remembered the death jokes she had teased him with this very morning and said, "And this morning! I feel so insensitive."

"You didn't know, and besides, it really cheered me up," They were crossing the living room; he paused at their fireplace and motioned at the painting over the fireplace. It was a rather hazy acrylic piece of a bridge over a rushing stream, trees and shrubbery in the background. A sole bird was silhouetted against the blue sky. Draco laughed, changing the topic, "I did that, sixth year."

She gave it a critical glance-over, "It's not bad. A little smudged, but I like it."

"It was a present for my mother. It took ages and I worked on it at home during Christmas break," Draco shrugged. He continued to lead her to the other side of the room, then paused and said, "Close your eyes."

Vivian closed her eyes.

Draco took her hand and led her into the center of the library. He dropped her hand, took a few steps aside, and said, "You can open them."

Vivian saw the enormous shelves stacked tall with books, going up two stories high. Her lips parted in delight as she looked up at the domed ceiling, at the angels and demons looking at her them; the beautiful pillars and plaster-carvings and ornaments in the corners of the library. She spun around, the angels and demons dancing over her, the dozens of eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you stood; the pained expressions, the triumphant angels! The colors, vivid, ranging from soft grays to sharp reds, swirls of paint, studded with precious stones, the curtains made of gilded thread – and the windows! Two stories high, the top half stained glass, the bottom half looking out onto one of the largest and most beautiful gardens in England.

Draco watched her and smiled when her eyes fell upon his face again. "How can you live in this house, in any other room, with a room like this in here! It's absolutely astounding," Vivian's voice quivered with tears, " I've never been anywhere so beautiful."

Draco was surprised by her tearful appreciation. She was truly an artist at heart. She laughed and explained to him, "For a minute there I pretended this was all a present, a gift for me or something. I couldn't help but cry."

"It is sort of a present, you can come by and read at any time."

"I never thought I'd be a guest at the Malfoy manor, not to mention Draco Malfoy's friend," Vivian looked overwhelmed, "I'm just floored now by all this."

"I hope this all explains about my nature, and my dislike to Harry Potter, and his Mudblood Hermione and the Weasleys," he told her.

"I understand," Vivian said, finally, "I don't understand hating people that much, but I've had my own fair share of prejudice against certain people. If I had known you were a Malfoy I wouldn't have tried to strike up a conversation that one day."

They stood there, looking at each other.

"Oh," Vivian realized something and said, "I'm going to be away the rest of this week, I'm going to visit my family. I haven't seen them in a long while."

"Have fun," He said, finally, "I don't really like most of my family. Katie – if you remember her – is still tolerable, but her parents are ridiculous. They're going through the stupidest, most drawn-out divorce _ever_. Poor Katie's caught in the middle of it, and her father keeps dumping her here. Her mother's watching her for now though."

"Awful, divorces," Vivian shook her head and then said, "Who am I to judge that though, maybe it's for the best; I come from a close-knit, loving family, but sometimes it's better for people to split than to suffer."

"I'll write you, maybe, in the meantime? I might have something to complain about and have nobody to rant to."

Vivian shook her head, "I'd rather not bother your owl with it, I'm really busy when I visit my family."

"Just in case? Give me their address?"

"Write to me your rants, but keep them; I'll read them when I get home."

He found this strange but shrugged and said, "Alright, whatever you wish."

She smiled at him sympathetically, "I'm sorry, it has been nice seeing your home, but I really ought to get going. I'm packing and leaving tonight."

"I'll walk you out."

They walked towards the front door together. Vivian said, "You really have changed quite a bit. Once that wall of distrust disintegrated between us, it's been much better. We're still quite opposite each other; I'm outgoing in all the areas you're locked-up-inside over; you're unforgiving about things I tend to let go easily. Yet we can be good friends. That was my goal from the very beginning, I think. To really give you a look at the world you never did before. None of that semi-researched, two-sided, 'unbiased' stuff that goes on in your articles, as fine a job as you do with it. Really letting you see it, that's really what it's all about."

"I guess I'll thank you someday, but I still feel like you just took control away from me and spun me in circles for a while," Draco smirked, "I like having control sometimes too."

"That's another good thing. You learned to relax and let someone else direct you for a while. Admit that it feels nice to _not _plan everything out from start to finish, and to have the same over-planned day, over and over until you die?"

"I admit, it's nice to have change sometimes."

"Well, good, then," She opened the door, "I'll be going then."

"Good-bye," He told her.

She nodded, "I'll write if anything."

"Alright," He replied.

Vivian then slipped outside and closed the door. He stood by the closed doors, hearing the clack of her heels descend the steps and then shuffle through the gravel-like path. He turned and saw his mother standing behind him, pale as a scepter and frowning at him.

"Who is she?"

"Just a co-worker. Just a friend," Draco defended.

"I don't like her. She looks like one of those empty-headed artist types, the kind that bothered me back when I went to school. No future at all, lost in their own folly about making the world a real good place," Narcissa sounded just like his thoughts sounded, weeks before.

"It's not like I'm going to wed her," Draco shrugged it off lightly.

"I hope not, I know a woman's intentions when I see them; I was young once too. I've had boys like me that were quite below me; there are many fine girls that don't have to shop in second-hand stores; she smelled like _mothballs_, and the way she looked at you – she fancies you."

"Nah, Vivian?" Draco shook his head, "Not for a while now. Maybe a little at the start, but I think she's come off it."

"She does," Narcissa said, "And I would keep her at a distance, or else you'll have a heart to break soon."

Draco frowned, "You don't even know her."

"I know how to tell if someone is _nothing_, or something, and she is nothing."

He knew he wouldn't win, "Perhaps."

She was moving away; she looked at him from over her shoulder and said, once again, "Be careful, she knows who you are now; it was a stupid idea to bring her here. She'd just black mail you, she knows you're rich and single and that you are hiding your true identity."

Draco just shook his head and started walking up the staircase.

Narcissa shouted after him, "I won't have her coming here again."

He closed the door to his room and sat at his desk, writing his first rant to Vivian.

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****

She had packed all her things, written a letter ahead of time to warn her family she was coming, and now she stood just opposite her old family home, ready to knock on the door. Vivian had felt a little alienated from them after she left school, for she had pursued her own interests then, as a legal adult in their world; she began to dress as she wished and had suppressed back at home, and began to write and paint anew in her own apartment. Though her father and mother helped her out with costs, her new job at the Daily Prophet made her fully independent, for she was getting a very large paycheck for an entry-level journalist.

She knocked.

Her mother pulled the door open, rearranging her newest baby girl squealing on her shoulder and exclaimed, "Ginny!"

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**Author**: All I can say is :-)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

After today, many things were beginning to form in Draco's mind.

Draco wrote a letter, and another, and couldn't stop writing; he was suddenly pouring his heart out, saying that he felt he was changing and that he felt she was to "blame", but he didn't feel like it was a bad thing any longer, and perhaps she was to "thank".

_My eyes are open, finally; I've had them closed for years now._

He scribbled feverishly, filling page after page with confessions.

_I'm glad you didn't give up on me, I would have given up if I were you, way too early in the entire process. But then, you're not like I am_

He paused, mid-way through this sentence. She is nothing, according to her mother; she wasn't like him in an entirely different way. Draco kept writing,

_A while ago you said you fancied me. Do you still feel that way? I don't want to lead you on, because I feel_

Draco crossed it out.

He didn't want to explore what it was that he felt for her.

His ears grew warm remembering how she had kissed his nose; he remembered the strange pang of desire when her body was against his, and the unusual feeling he felt when she was so close to him, a feeling that made him very uncomfortable. He had never had a girl force him to read romance novels in dim lighting, late at night, trying to decipher what a woman wanted; what she could be thinking.

He didn't want to feel that he was the one that had feelings for her in the end, and not her for him. Draco was beginning to fear that he was falling in love, or that he had fallen in love already; and he was so overwhelmed with feelings of both anguish and joy about the whole thing that he couldn't sleep again. He knew sleep deprivation would eventually catch up on him; but tonight he didn't care and wrote the final rant to himself, like a diary, wanting to get it all out.

_What do I want? Can I change my plans? I wasn't ready for this, for _her_, I want to_

What did he want?

"What?" He asked the ceiling of his four-poster bed, reading his letter over by the glow of his wand, "I want to..."

He looked up. He saw an owl tapping on the window. Draco opened the window and Vivian's owl landed on his desk. He tore the letter open feverishly. She had written to him within hours of parting from him too. What did it mean? What did he want it to mean? What did she want to say?

His fingers trembled when he read the first line, "Dear Brom (or ought I call you by another name? You know what I mean) , I've arrived at my mother's and father's. Two of my brothers are staying here too; they've just returned from a trip abroad, selling their 'unique' merchandise all across Europe. I'm completely overwhelmed; my mother baked herself into a stupor, I haven't eaten so much in one day for months! I'm going to be yet another stone heavier by the time I come home. If you ever hug me, you'll have to have me rotate if you want to feel my entire body; I'm going to become planet-sized soon. Ha-ha, you're probably making a silly face – _hug you_, you might be thinking, why would I do that?"

He sat down at the window.

"You can write back to me just by giving this owl a letter. He knows where to go. I won't plague you with the messy job of writing an address on, just write VC on it and I'll know it's for me. I'm going to wait for your reply. Have any rants yet? I have a rant building up but I'd rather write it in a diary for now. It'd just trouble you."

He wanted to know immediately, right there and then; _what's bothering you_? A new letter formed in his mind, a reply letter. He was completely enflamed with passion. He hadn't felt so awake, so full of energy, in a long time. He was dawning with realizations, teetering on the verge of an epiphany.

Draco finished the letter from Vivian, "I think I'm growing really fond of you, my friend. You kind of grow onto a person. First I saw you as generally an ice cube, and I want to chisel you down into at least a smaller ice cube. I think you melted almost entirely though and are a nice puddle with the sunshine reflected in it, but still cold and a bit distant. I suppose you could be a nice pond many miles away; accessible, surely, but it's still quite a trip left to get there."

He laughed to himself, then felt like crying.

_I think I'm more than a pond, I think I'm turning into water inside, sliding apart like some sort of liquid, losing its thickness as time ticks away and_

No, too strung-out, too... too open. Now he felt he had to be secretive and guarded; he didn't want her to know just as much as he wanted to write back in capital letters **I THINK I FANCY YOU TOO!**

"Oh, fucking hell," He lowered his head onto his arms and then found the stamina to write back, holding back a lot of what he wanted to say; deciding to keep it for a diary entry too, for now:

"Vivian,

Your family sounds really interesting, actually. What

sort of merchandise do your brothers sell? Maybe

you've got quite a story to tell... I've never thought

about business seriously, actually; I don't think I

could have the passion to stir a crowd into buying

what I'm saying. Rather I'd just stir them to sleep.

Cold shoulder them to death. Ha-ha. You can call

me by name in correspondence; I don't think

your owl will drop the letter or misdirect it. I'm

attaching a feather in here, it fell from my bird's

wing. I have a matching one. Since you were there

when he left, it feels like you should get one too,

like some sort of souvenir.

Meanwhile, there's nothing new here with me,

I'm staying up tonight. I'm guessing you are too,

by the time your owl arrived here. I'm going to

go to bed soon though. I'm up reading.

Draco."

He sent the owl on its way. An hour later, a reply arrived. His stomach turned in surprise and he read it to himself quietly, "Dear Draco, wow, you wrote back _fast_; my owl was back here in under an hour. I'm glad that you were up. I was staying up too, thinking. What're you reading that's keeping you up so late? I want to read a book that good, I haven't read any good books lately. Have you worn that trench coat I gave you yet? Wear it Monday to the café, I'll be coming back. I might photograph you a bit, you're starting to be like one of my favorite characters I've ever written. This stone-hearted loner that learned to love and live a little, kind of like you except you learned to be _friendly _and to challenge your life a bit. Nothing earth-shattering is happening to you, I hope? No major emotional landslide out of nowhere? Your writing looked rather frantic. Maybe you're writing in the dark, but how can you read then? I'm sorry for all the questions, I'm really quite bored and I can't be bothered to go to sleep. I'm too full, my stomach hurts. Viv."

He replied,

"Go to sleep, Vivian. I'm reading some sort of Muggle story,

Herman Hesse's "Steppenwolfe", it's interesting."

He had read the book because he had found it in the Slytherin common room; some boy had been reading it and didn't want to return it to the library, so he told everyone it was awfully depressing and that he didn't feel like making anyone else agonize over reading it. Draco read it, to prove him wrong, and he proved him wrong though he didn't tell him; he kept his victory locked inside. It was a good book. Depressing at points, but overall enthralling.

He continued to write,

"Bring some food home, I do need to put on some

weight before the winter comes; I'm going to turn

into an icicle. Maybe you can borrow me some

weight. Trust me, you don't look heavy though,

you look cozy I suppose. Like someone that would

be fun to stay up with to look at the stars; someone

that wouldn't get cold. Eh, I read a cheesy romance

novel before I started this new book, so forgive me,

I'm being corny."

Draco wanted to cross the paragraph out, feeling it was too telling, but he didn't want to start over. He dared himself to send it.

"That's all. Go to bed, write me a letter in the

morning. I'll read it then. Draco."

He sent the owl and climbed into bed and willed himself to sleep, so that he didn't come off too desperate. He woke at five the next morning and took the letter from his desk – he had kept the window open. Her owl waited for him, sitting on a tree branch outside his window. Draco took the letter and opened it,

"Draco – fine, I'm going to bed. One last thing. When I'm coming back, you need to stay up to watch the stars with me. I'm betting you that I'll get colder even faster than you. I can't stay warm, _ever_. Only my little sister is worse. You'll see. – Viv."

Draco looked at the dark sky outside and bit his lower lip to suppress a smile. He sent back a short letter, "Viv – it's morning. I'm up for a star-gazing night. I know all the constellations, watch me nerd you to death this time. – D".

He waited but she didn't reply within the hour, so he went and showered, dressed, and left his home, pulling on the trench coat. It smelled of some other man's cologne, and had a hole in one pocket, but he didn't mind much. It didn't really look second hand. When he was passing a store window, he looked at himself and realized it did look rather good on him. He listened to the birds singing sweet serenades in the trees no the way to the café.

The doorbells chimed and sang when he entered. The coffee he ordered tasted sweeter and was more filling than usual. Everything felt different. He felt different. He wanted to shout how he felt, he wanted to explain it but words failed him. Instead, he smiled stupidly to himself, biting his lip to suppress it still.

"You're in love, aren't you?" The waitress laughed.

He was startled out of his daydream by her words, "I'm sorry?"

"I've been asking you if I can take your coffee mug and wash it for the last minute or two," she explained, "Your mind's on cloud nine."

Draco flushed, " Sorry," he said again, "Maybe."

"She's a lucky girl, handsome," The waitress teased. She was well over forty, and a lot rounder than Vivian – who he felt looked just fine – and he shrugged off her compliment. He was alright; he still felt a little insecure, after feeling he was a bit too round and too short by seventh year, not growing out of it like the other boys did until he left school; his self-esteem was always rather low because he had such high expectations of himself, so much Malfoy pride to live up to.

He opened the newspaper and read Vivian's heart-warming new article. He got caught up in it; he had to admit to himself, she was quite a writer. She took a topic he couldn't give two hoots about – about two little girls she observed bickering and then how they resolved the problem – and then took the story and made it so much bigger, talking about how the world could learn from it; she drew it out extensively, like a fine essay-writer does; into an entire different realm where it wasn't two little girls anymore, but two armies; two kings; two sparring wizards.

Draco read his own article second. He had never read his article second to anyone else's; Brom Breeler was his only interest in the Daily Prophet. He couldn't get into his own article, really. He felt stood up by Vivian's talent, though his story was completely different in scope and topic, completely _incomparable_; yet he felt prouder for her than himself.

_I'm not sure how I feel, I_

_What do I want? I just want_

_Well I'm not sure, but this could be_

_The world's so strange sometimes because_

_I'm_

_I_

_I think_

_Maybe I_

_I think I'm in love._

**&&&&&&&&&&**

The weekend dragged by; they had exchanged two or three letters but the passion had left and he was simply anxious to see her again. He wanted to hear all the details of her trip. When Monday finally crawled its way in, Draco waited in the café for Vivian. He had the whole weekend to calm down, to put himself together and to sort through his fragmented mind to figure out his unusual epiphany, his sudden surge of passion and interest. He understood himself; suddenly he felt very much in control for he had figured out something very big that Vivian didn't know, and he wanted to keep it so. He had taken a pessimistic look to it all for he felt she didn't fancy him any longer; he had hidden all his confessional-like letters in the bottom shelf of his desk, next to his family photo. Draco felt he would somehow work his way up into telling her, and perhaps they could both somehow grow from the experience; perhaps she would somehow make him get over her; surely she would want him to. She knew just as well as he did that a relationship between them was just not possible.

_Why_? He challenged himself anyway.

He didn't want to tell her, and he _did_ want to tell her; but both of these options were in agreement about one thing: it had to take time.

Draco waited there, that Monday morning, having had figured everything out – going as far as planning out their conversation that would happen this morning – and he felt very much in control.

When Vivian entered, he was surprised to see that she had dyed her hair red. She was wearing a slightly oversized red sweater, a green scarf, a black skirt and her black combat boots. When she turned to look at him, her brown eyes and red hair and slightly freckled pale skin seemed to create an illusion before him; he felt it was a face he nearly remembered; he couldn't remember where –

She actually looked quite a bit like Ron Weasley; the same nose; less freckles, thankfully, for he was more speckled than some bizarre bird's egg; her hair was the same fiery color.

Vivian moved towards him uncertainly.

This all made sense, somehow. He felt his control waning.

"I have to tell you," Vivian said finally, "This is my real hair color."

"Oh," He said, his mind missing the big picture, overwhelmed yet again with his fall from the "in charge" seat he kept trying to sit himself in; the "in charge" seat that Vivian had taken from him quite some time ago.

"You see, Vivian Crowe is my pen name," Vivian said, tears in her eyes, "I could tell from the start you were different; I figured you were a Slytherin, I didn't know which kind, but nearly all of them felt quite similar about my family. That we were ratty, tattered, poor kids; freckled red-heads, and all."

"I don't understand," Draco said, feeling as if his senses were gone completely. What was she saying?

"I don't want to lie anymore," Vivian said, a tear escaping her left eye and rolling down her cheek, "I'm not who you think I am. I'm n-not some sort of foreign artist girl. I'm a Gryffindor girl, a struggling artist," she babbled, "I'm..."

"Vivian, I," He felt like saying it just then, right away, to stop her from saying something stupid that would make everything fall apart all over again. He had constructed another plan, that he thought he could take if the time felt right; it felt right, because something in him was pressing the panic button now.

"I'm Ginny Weasley," She cried out.

His words jarred inside him.

Everything clicked.

Cold water splashed over his head, figuratively. A slap hit _his_ face, a slap in the face from life. He got the shock. His senses sobered immediately. His thoughts became full sentences. Control slipped away. His confession died away, "What?"

"I knew you'd hate me. I don't want you to be misled by me anymore," Vivian/Ginny began to cry.

The waitresses all gathered a few meters away, watching it as if it were a wonderful soap opera.

Draco stood, looking horrified, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was embarrassed of them," Ginny wiped at her eyes, "I know that sounds horrible, but I wanted to be someone else. Someone on my own, apart from them. I was always just seen as 'one of the Weasley's', hidden in the shadow of my other brother's success, the _baby_ of the family. So I tried to make it on my own. I ch-changed my name and did what I wanted, and thought I could be someone entirely that way. And I could, everyone saw me differently; I could make friends easier, I could find my _niche._"

He shook his head, the words blowing past him, "You're one of... one of _them_?"

"Be prejudiced, I know that's how the Malfoys are," Ginny turned away, "I felt afraid of this moment ever since I saw those photographs. Why did I get so scared, do you think? I knew immediately any chance for us to have, h-have a relationship beyond friendship would die. Maybe even friendship itself."

"Obviously it would," Draco blurted out, "A Weasley and a – a – Malfoy? I thought it would be impossible if it was a Malfoy and a no-name artist, but – a Weasley?"

"See? That's why I took another name, too. Like you did. To have people see me in a different light. As someone representing myself only, not an entire family," She wiped her eyes, "I'm guessing you never want to see me again."

Draco stood, shaking his head, "I don't know what to say, I'm..." He had lost control. He didn't know what to do. He was looking for an easy escape. He had to say something, anything, so that he could head home and think it all over and plan what to do. This was too much, "I... I thought I..."

Vivian/Ginny shook her head and turned away from him and fled from the café. Draco stood there, unsure of what just happened. She had lead the conversation in away, because before he could string a coherent response together she had left.

He lowered himself into his seat again, his lips open slightly in surprise still. A Weasley. Narcissa would have a stroke too if she found out. Did he love her now? Could he still love her? Did it matter to him? Seeing Ron's face mirrored in her features was a shock, and he would have easily jeered Ron if Ron had approached him in a café, but he had never even glanced twice at Ginny Weasley, at school or elsewhere.

Vivian? Free-spirited, happy-hearted, lovable Vivian was a Weasley? That was impossible, almost; the Weasley family couldn't produce something so marvelous from their awful gene pool.

Draco lowered his head into his hands and rested his forehead on the table. He closed his eyes and felt his thoughts slowly calm from a rippling, storming ocean back to a calm, collected little puddle, like Vivian had said. Here, he could work slowly and take things one at a time, in small amounts.

He still loved her. Yet he knew that for certain their relationship was doomed. He couldn't under any circumstance tell her how he felt now. Draco felt he could still see her, be friends with her; they could continue talking daily, but he knew eventually it would just hurt too much, for he'd love her past a point of return, past the point of being able to let her go still. Then he'd have to break up the friendship. Either way it would all end somehow.

She had cried. He wanted to kiss her thinking of her crying, but then the word Weasley sprang into his thoughts. Kiss a Weasley? That would be his first kiss. A Weasley had almost taken his first kiss. That's what she was, a Weasley?

No.

He couldn't label her that way, as just a name.

She had been like him in the end; though he changed his name to protect his family's privacy out of pride and respect, while she did it out of embarrassment and a desire to have a future.

Draco felt the numbness settling in him, as he figured out what to do. What he had to do. He had to choose whether he wanted to shame the Malfoy name perhaps forever, but finally get all his feelings out and then move on somehow, for she probably didn't feel the same way, especially now after this conversation today – or, the possibility that she'd want to pursue romance, either or; _Or,_ he had to break things up now and leave it all the way it was now, not risking it.

He didn't know which he wanted to do.

Narcissa's face floated in his mind; his father's death and his feeling of responsibility to pass on the Malfoy genes in a way that had been traditional in their family – onto a woman of good fortune, someone cold and distant like him, to raise a proud child that reached Malfoy expectations; to love that woman eventually, perhaps; but he didn't want it. He had planned it to be so, to have her picked for him by his parents; this was the plan even after he met Vivian for a while. Then things changed, changed beyond his control.

Draco stood, feeling he needed to rest at home and think.

He left the café and all the waitresses returned to work, disappointed by the unhappy finish.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

He was still lying in bed, thinking, when an owl arrived late that night. Draco debated whether to read the letter or not, but the moment he recognized Ginny's handwriting on it he knew he wouldn't sleep without reading it.

Draco pulled it open and read, "Can you forgive me? Can we still be friends?"

He didn't even hesitate when he wrote back, "Yes, we can still be friends."

The owl came back within a half-hour with the reply, "Thank Merlin! I'm really glad."

He wrote back, "Me too." Then he went to bed, thinking, _Just friends then. I won't tell her. She doesn't have to know. I'll protect her from one more problem – just another complication to worry her._

Draco closed his eyes, rubbing them tiredly. Neville Longbottom had stolen his story the day before right from under his nose; Draco had been horribly disappointed about it all because he had wanted the story, but had been so distracted by his own personal life that he didn't contact his boss about it.

Now he was stuck covering a rather droll art gallery that opened in Hogsmeade. It would be tucked somewhere on the Art and Entertainment insert; he didn't really want to go to the gallery as it reminded him of Vivian.

Mrs. Kampf had sent an owl just a few hours before, insisting that he hurried up with the story. He couldn't write a word. Instead, he pulled out one of his confessional letters to Vivian and wrote on the back of it; another page to his scattered, bits and pieces diary.

**&&&&&&&&&&&&**

_I love you._

_I want to kiss you._

_When I look towards the sun and close my eyes I can't see. I'm blind. All I see is a dark orange glow. All I feel is the heat of the sun. That's how I feel about you. I don't have to see the Weasley red hair or the freckled face of an old prejudice I held. I don't even see your weight, your height, your brown eyes. That's because you're just a warm glow in my life. You're right, it was tedious and meticulous, planned to the last detail. Every day was the same. I even planned conversations in advance._

_Now I know that there's more to life._

_You're the only real friend I've ever had, that I've ever needed to have. I don't like relying on people. I like to stand alone. I hate losing control of my life. I practically hated you at some points, because you challenged all that. You made me feel as if everything had suddenly turned wild and random. You showed me a life where unexpected events happen all the time, where I can be surprised or shocked or reduced to tears of joy or laughter; where there's twists and changes._

_I didn't think I loved you, not until the very end. When I finally thought to myself that it was possible for me to be able to develop feelings for someone; when I finally stopped being in denial about my feelings for you. When I let myself think that I perhaps do want to love you, everything fell apart again. It was like a warm surprise. My stomach was in knots, my heart was pounding, I was writing letter after letter, enflamed with passion. Passion!_

_I haven't felt passionate about anything in my life, except perhaps Quidditch. I haven't done a single good deed out of the kindness of my heart in years and years. I felt too proud and too superior. I saw it as undermining my social position, my Malfoyhood. I'm still horribly proud, at times. I'm still pompous a little. I still see my family as a line of truly strong, determined people; a line of sometimes perceived as evil people; but then, isn't anyone who has ultimate control of themselves and people around them, manipulating for power and for money, someone you'd consider evil? But a lot of successful people have to be like that. The Malfoy fortune didn't just sprout from the ground of fall out of the sky._

_So, yes, I still look at people and see them as Mudbloods, but I even learned myself, from being a journalist that tried to look at things without any bias, that there's more to people than their bloodline. It's still instilled in me to be turned off by the idea of people that aren't pureblood; that's how I've been raised and taught for many years. That's who I was, and still am. I can't change everything. If everyday of your child hood your mother and father had taught you to harbor certain feelings and viewpoints that have been passed from generation to generation in your family, it's difficult to let go, to see the world differently._

_That's what you managed to do._

_I wouldn't have let you take charge; I would have never let go. You forced me into it, going in roundabout ways to slowly manipulate me into having abstract thoughts, having unusual feelings, unusual desires._

_Perhaps you did brainwash me a little. Perhaps falling in love is being brainwashed to a certain extent; the person charms you to the point that you can't see yourself with others, to the point where their last name and appearance stops mattering, but their words and actions mean all the world to you._

_I love you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_I can say it a million times to a piece of paper, then crumple it and stick in the back of a desk. I can't see myself saying it to you. That Malfoy pride is unbeatable, isn't it? I'm bitter, yes. I have never looked at my family's traditions as a negative thing. However, now I see that this is a negative thing – that they have made me immune to people "below me", so that I would feel nothing for them; no desire to be charitable, no desire to make friends with them. And as a Malfoy, nearly everyone was below me at all times._

_You are below me, yes, because I'm of a higher social strata. We're talking near nobility status. I'm also far richer; you barely make your own rent now. You're a Weasley and buy your clothes second-hand; my family is the Malfoys and we import designer fabrics and clothing from Europe._

_Yet you are so high above me in reality. You can look at someone old and decrepit and actually want to know their life story; actually want to care about all they have been through. You could drop everything and write a story for a rude journalist, just because your heart told you to. Your heart guided you. Just like my father said, women think with their hearts, and men with their minds._

_I've grown to detest my mind these past few days. I can't rationalize a positive result from telling you how I feel. I can't look at my own feelings reasonably; I see them as skewed, out of proportion, going into dimensions I never thought feelings could transcend. Everything I feel now is somehow laced with that undercurrent – I'm in love. It's so different. Before it was, 'I'm superior, I'm in control', that was the feeling that filled me. Now it's completely opposite. You've become in control of my heart and mind. I see from your point of view and from mine._

_I don't see which one is truly the winning point of view, in the end. If I had stayed the way I was, I wouldn't have ever felt this... this tearing-me-apart feeling, knowing that I can't love you and you can't love me. Malfoy and Weasley would never mix. Your family would never let you, my family would never let me. I couldn't handle your friends, you wouldn't be able to handle my "friends" like Crabbe and Goyle. They are all such flat people, just as I was; a straight line opposed to your sphere. I got from point A to point B every single day. You found new roads every day to make your life worth living._

_However, because of your point of view, I can be sensitive. I can feel good about myself rather than to just keep suffocating myself in egocentrism and pompousness. I can care for a bird whose wing is broken; I can show a woman a library and feel her happiness when she looks about it with marveling eyes. Happy for her feelings, not my own._

_But your point of view is horrible too._

_Just as my point of view made me blind, so your point of view makes you see far too much. Your heart is broken day by day by people that don't care. People let you down and you care, because you've turned your heart into a muscle that's stronger than a fist, though the same size. I can't stress enough how vulnerable it is - being so random, so open to everything._

_It's poisoning yourself slowly, too; you're heading towards a downfall. Losing yourself like that, losing control, just leads to pain. Just as letting my emotions go, finally, just hurt us both. I should have taken another path; that's a mistake you take often when you are so happy, carefree, and fanciful._

_I was too happy to feel passion to comprehend it, and to what it may lead. Now I know it lead me to a dead end, and to a great change in my friendship with you. You might carry on, but I've never been so vulnerable; I'm not used to having my emotional high being shot down. I've never had an emotional high. I was so naked; such an easy target to be hit by reality._

_I love you._

_I need you to feel happy again. You're like a drug. I don't know how I can see you, knowing how I feel inside, knowing that I'm stuck at the end of a road that I made the mistake of taking. While you still have roads ahead of you, I feel like I have to change my role in our friendship. I desire to separate; to be distant and cool again._

_It would ease the pain of breaking up the friendship – by slowly returning to my old self. By slowly returning to my cage- remember the cage? I felt comfortable there, I felt secure. I want to feel like my future is secure and comfortable, though predictable. In the end it hurts less._

_I wish you could have had a chance to feel my point of view too. You're too caught up in yours, though. You'll never understand the decisions I have had to make. You're too good, too kind, too humane._

_I'm not good, or kind, or humane._

_Especially not towards myself any longer. I'd rather be in a cage and know that everything outside is extraneous and beyond my reach, than to be outside and have millions of directions to go, and a future that is one big question mark._

_No, freedom comes with a huge price._

_I love you._

_Good-bye._

&&&&&&&&&&&

That letter he saved; he burned the rest. The smoke rose up the chimney like from a funeral pyre. He threw the feather in, then felt despair beyond comprehension. He went upstairs and found himself crying, silently. He tore his pillow open, releasing a multitude of feathers. He walked downstairs and burned them one by one.

Narcissa saw all this and said nothing, she had warned him and had come out triumphant. Vivian did end up giving him nothing but pain; nothing but agony that only returning to a flat, dull life would heal it.

When the smell of burning feathers became unbearable, Draco dumped the rest of the pillow into a trash can and left the house completely. He laid himself out on the soft, springy grass in the garden and looked up at the stars.

He planned to let go of Vivian, of Ginny, the next night. They were both going to stay up to watch the stars. Draco knew it would be his last night with her, truly; she thought it was the first night of a lifelong friendship.

He whispered the names of the constellations, then started again, until his voice was too weak with tears to continue. Then he turned his head and stared at the flower garden, crying in shame of his own feelings.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"Dear Draco, I'll see you tonight, I'll bring my pillow and blanket. You bring your huge, swollen brain. I can't believe you. You know all the constellations. Geez. Then again, I can't believe that you still want to be friends, knowing who I am. Well, I'll be there at ten o'clock at night, so be out there. Maybe light your wand so I can find you in that huge garden. If I wander away the whole night we'll never have any fun. Love – Vivian."

He read it three times, then two more times the last two words. Love – Vivian. Love – Vivian. Love – Vivian.

He smiled forlornly and hid this in the bottom drawer of his desk as well.

She still wanted to be called Vivian, he realized. While he preferred his true name, in the end, she wanted to remain who she was for many weeks now to him. She wanted to stay separate from her family. Perhaps they could...

No.

He had made up his mind. This wasn't a sign that she was distancing herself from the Weasleys for him. She was doing it for herself. He wouldn't lead himself on, which would be the worst of all things to do.

_Goodbye_, he thought again, _goodbye forever tomorrow morning._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Draco spread his blanket out on the grass. Night had finally come, casting darkness across the sky. It was absolutely perfect for star-gazing; there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, except for a little puffy one that momentarily passed over the moon and then headed to far portions of the sky, away from him. It left behind trickles, like little pale hairs, which disappeared when the sun set completely.

He laid down, waiting, his eyes studying the stars as if it were the first time he had seen them. Lucius and Narcissa had drummed in, quite vigorously, an education outside of Hogwarts; due to their dappling in the Dark Arts, Draco had to know a lot about the phases of the moon, the constellations, and how to use this information in elaborate spells. They taught him over the summer, fueling his developing mind with books and magic lessons.

Draco never mentioned much about his summer coursework, not even to his bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. He was rather embarrassed by it, but now thanked the stars over him for his abundance of knowledge.

His eyes closed, the cool wind sliding over his face like velvet. It was cold; he had worn the trench coat she had bought him. When he reopened his eyes, he saw a figure standing over him. He sat up instantly, "Vivian?"

The figure replied, sharply, "No, Dumbledore." Vivian laughed and sat down on the blanket beside him, "Sleeping already?"

"I was just thinking," he replied, feeling his insides kindle anew with a distinct fire. He could feel words pressing against his lips, words he had spent all of yesterday trying to divulge into that last tell-all letter, which he never intend giving it to him.

"What about?"

"Everything," He said.

"Mmm, must have taken a while then," Vivian smiled. She was dressed rather unusually; her red hair was back in a ponytail, she was free of makeup for once – and he felt she looked rather pretty without it – and her clothes were still black but feminine, elegant; a knee-length dress and fishnet stockings and dressy shoes.

"You look nice," Draco offered, the compliment stuck in his throat for a while before he could get it out.

"Ah, I thought since it was my first night really looking at the stars, I ought to dress for the occasion," She blushed a little. She knelt beside him, then laid down on the blanket, her feet to his head. He felt an immediate pull of disappointment that she wouldn't lie flanking him like a man and a woman would lie together.

They both rested on the blanket, staring at the sky, and she kicked his temple lightly with the tip of her shoe and said, "Well? Get with it, you were planning to tell me all about the constellations."

"Ah..." He nodded in the darkness, "Maybe we can t-talk a little first."

"I see," She was grinning broadly; you could hear it in her voice, though he could only see the pale curve of her chin from where he was lying. She added, after some silence, "Let's go, let's talk. What's on your mind?"

Draco sighed, "Did you always dream of being a writer? Of making a name of yourself?"

"Oh, for a long time. I got in a bit of trouble with a diary in Hogwarts..." She trailed off, her voice faltering, then added, "I knew I was a good writer though. I'd write anywhere, writing in that diary got me in some trouble, don't ask – but, yeah..." She was beginning to babble, as she tended to.

"So you wrote wherever, whenever," he mused.

"You?"

"I always observed everyone really critically. I noticed things, I knew when and how and why things happened. I kept a diary too in Hogwarts."

"Really! I couldn't see you as the type!"

"It was mostly childish bitching on my part."

"Oh, well, isn't that what diaries start of as? Places to vent and complain... but you can really grow and find yourself in them," Vivian sat and turned so that she was lying beside him now, her head level with his, " Hey, you sound so depressed."

He blinked tears off, wishing to cast them into the sky, "I'm mad, that's all, I'm completely crazy."

"Why? What'd you do?" Concern tinged her voice.

He turned, his eyes looking right into her wide brown ones, "Ginny," He said delicately, using her real name. He couldn't hold it in much longer. He readied to lean forwards and kiss those perfect upturned lips, his eyes never leaving the caring, overwhelming depth of hers. His lips instinctively parted slightly, his head tilting towards hers.

She sadly missed what he was trying to do and prattled on, "You're going to have to learn to just get your thoughts out, you know. I can't read minds, and most other women can't either. I didn't really pay attention in Divination so I'm no good at any of that..."

Draco's fingers fell upon her lips, shushing her, "Are you nervous?"

"No?" Vivian's words stumbled out quickly, "What do you mean?"

"You're talking a mile a minute," He held his fingers over those soft pink little pillows; when she talked they brushed his fingers. He wondered if just the magic of those beautiful lips could rearrange his fingerprints, smearing the lines into gas-spill swirls; their heat and prowess felt like they could...

"I'm fine," She laughed softly. _Flick, flick, _her lips brushed his fingers. His spirit swooned, melting into hers in the moment that was so passionate to him and so ordinary to her, "I'm just surprised, you're acting really funny."

"Nah," He murmured softly, his intense blue eyes not leaving hers. _Get the point, _he whispered mentally, _please, Ginny, Vivian, whatever. You're so good at making a move. You kissed my nose. Kiss me. Hug me. Something, please, something._

"You're spacing out," Vivian put her fingers on his lips in return, "You try talking sanely with someone going like this."

Her warm fingertips held fast as he replied, "I'll try," he could feel the soft brush of her black-painted fingernails on his upper lip; her fingers mostly rested on his larger lower lip.

"I was so afraid you wouldn't want to be my friend," Vivian sighed, her breath warm, blowing strands of his blonde hair from his face. She licked his fingertip by accident as she spoke. Her mouth remained a little open, his index finger resting slightly on one of her teeth. He wondered if she'd break away her face first, or if he'd move her fingers away. Neither of them seemed to want to.

"I was afraid too," Draco admitted.

"You like me."

"I do."

"I figured we'd become friends. I'm good at foretelling who'll become my friend," She closed her eyes, her eyelashes red and real – free of the tons of black mascara she usually smothered them with.

"You're the first I've ever really made," he said, _and fallen in love with. Wanted to be with forever. All those little things. Can't you read it from my eyes? Look into them, read my eyes, I do that with yours. Can't you tell! You and your insight and optimism!_

"Heh, I saw you in the café, you were so cute, I fancied you at once," She laughed softly.

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"I bet I came off as a total weirdo," She laughed on, "You looked spooked out of your shoes. Hey, you're wearing your trenchcoat."

_So much for that... _"Yeah, I am."

"You're the one that wanted to talk. Say something. It's getting awkward," She dipped her finger into his mouth playfully, "Open up."

"You're not weird," Draco said finally.

"Yeah I am."

"Not anymore. Not to me," He confessed softly, his fingers tracing away from her lips and caressing her chin, moving up her soft cheek, "You don't mind if I...?"

"Knock yourself out. No need to check though, I shave everyday. You'll never be able to tell that I'm the Bearded Lady," Her grin cut him to pieces inside. Why was she so happy all the time!

His fingers stopped beneath her eyes, then traced down to her chin again.

Her own fingers budged from his lips.

He leaned forwards again, and this time didn't stop. She looked like she wanted to protest but he didn't allow her. His hand held down hers to the ground and the tips of his lips found her lower lip, then moved up and kissed, more passionately, his tongue tracing her lips and then darting inside her mouth. He had never kissed before and certainly not like this. Pangs of desire throttled through him; inside his pants he felt he was afire.

"Draco," She whispered in surprise, when he parted his lips from hers.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, "I had to."

"I didn't even have to do it first," Vivian's voice was full of tears, despite the laugh she tried to disguise it with, "I - - I didn't..." Her lower lip trembled and she pressed her lips to his again.

Her fingers trailed down his shirt, across his stomach, and then back up to his neck, caressing. Her delicate fingernails twiddled through strands of silver-blonde hair, parting them; she broke her lips away and kissed up bridge of his nose and looked in his eyes fondly.

"I didn't think you'd feel this way for me anymore," Draco whispered in a hushed tone.

"Talk about irony. _I _ was the one that kept giving you signs, you ninny," She kissed his forehead gently and then smiled broadly into his face, " Since when...?"

"I can't," he cried softly, "we can't be like this."

"How long?" She demanded.

"A few days," He said softly, "but it had to have started long ago, slowly."

"Enflamed with passion suddenly, Malfoy?" Vivian teased.

He realized he ought to think of her as Ginny, not Vivian. As for who she was, who she would always be, who he could never change, who he could never be with. Vivian Crowe, no-name goth-girl, was still more likely to be with him than Ginny Weasley. His stomach dropped with both feverishness and disappointment; her lips were still fresh on his face but so was every bit of warning and advice he'd processed in his mind for the past few days. All of it for nothing? Would he lose himself to mindless passion? _I never lose my cool..._

"You're serious," She cooed, her fingertips running lower, skimming his belt nervously, then racing up to his face again, "I can't believe you're serious."

"I can't believe I'm telling you. Sort of."

"Tell me more."

"I fancy you."

"Likewise."

He was empowered, " I really like you."

"You've grown on me even more, just grew and grew from the start," Vivian was now confessing as well.

"I love you," He said finally. The silence around them was beautiful. Fireflies dangled like gold in the sky, emblazed into the night air as if by faience; the soft trill of crickets and cicadas rang from afar; the delicate hoot of an owl echoed from afar. Nature was still, his heart was not and his stomach whirled.

Vivian's eyes were filled with a glorious sort of joy, "You _love _me? _You _love me? You love _me?_" She stressed a different word each time, unsure which to disbelieve more, "Draco..." Her kiss found his lips again.

"Wait," Draco whispered, "Before I lose my head. We – we can't. I have to warn you. This is the – the last time – I tried to tell you in the café, I..."

"No wonder," She looked thrilled, "No wonder you were so flustered and shocked. I ruined it. I'm sorry," Vivian's eyes let loose to slow streams of tears, "I never thought you'd love me back."

_She loves me. _Did honor matter suddenly? He wanted to swim off into her tears, go back into her eyes, get married to her, have a child with her. Maybe even two. He might even learn to like children at this rate.

"We can't," His voice was pained, "be together. My family would be ruined. Our name. My mother, she'd die twice and then come back and kill me and die twice more."

She laughed softly.

"What'll everyone say? I can't hide as Brom Breeler forever."

She laughed harder, a little bitterly now.

He paused, "What?"

"Is being a Malfoy more important than being happy? Than love?"

He didn't reply for a moment, then said, "No, of course not."

"But it is. You're willing to throw _this _away." She leaned in, kissing deeper, her tongue dancing across his, pressing it to the roof of his mouth; he dared tangle his around hers. His hands trailed to her breasts, running over them in desire.

"I don't want to," He was breathless again, "Vivian – Ginny – I don't know what to do. I thought I had it all figured out but now..."

"You can decide after this," She whispered knowingly, her fingers tracing down his chest again, "How far are you willing to go?"

"_What_?" Draco's heart was pumping so hard he could feel it in his head and his ears, like a vicious pump, squeezing and gasping. His groin was throbbing. He bit his tongue to keep from blurting out something stupid. _I think I'm dying. I've never – not in my whole life – _he'd masturbated, of course, every boy has; but this was beyond anything he'd ever felt. All those pathetic magazines he'd flipped through in the restroom, working away frantically, watching the nude photographs – this was nothing like it. It wasn't as lustful as just so happy, so free and so unbelievably turned on - - his eyes closed in pleasure.

"Far," She read his face, her fingers unbuckling his belt. His fingers snuck to the hem of her dress, bunching it at her thighs; her legs straddled his waist, "Draco," She whispered, "Have you...?"

"No," He looked embarrassed.

"Neither have I," Vivian confessed.

_But it feels like we know what to do, don't we? _He wanted to say, but he felt it would be perverse, he wanted the moment to be beautiful. She pulled away clothing easily; he was glad he picked such a discrete spot in the garden! Her head was at his waist. His erection could have pierced steel; her body was warm and slick and he could barely keep his mind and heart from spinning to even focus on what was happening, his groan was a steady and fervent reply to her soft movements. Her lips were everywhere as were her hands; he could barely keep up, his fingers running through her hair.

"I love you," She cried softly, moments away from going the whole way, "Are you sure?"

"I..." Draco hesitated. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back after this. His first kiss, his first time, his first love. Being a Malfoy was pushed as far back into his mind as possible, "I am."

She straddled him again, her dress gathering at her waist, her black panties a lace curtain between finalizing what he really felt, pent up in him for so long. The passion that made him heady with desire, penciling off letter after letter to her a while ago, suddenly erupted again. He channeled it fully into making love under the stars. He couldn't even recall how it ended or what took place throughout; they were both moaning and breathless and at the very end she collapsed in his arms and her head lay on his shoulder, her eyes closed, her fingers tracing hearts on his chest.

He whispered into her hair, "I love you, Ginny Weasley."

She began to rearrange her clothing and help him with his; "I love you too," She was flushed and happy, "That was..."

He shook his head, showing they needn't speak.

"Want to hear about the stars?" He asked, his face tugging into a shy smile.

"Sure," She cuddled close and looked up at the sky, "What's that one?" She motioned towards a cluster of stars.

"Big dipper," He took her hand in his and guided her extended finger like a quill across the sky, "Little dipper..." He continued on, in a soft voice. She listened to his voice, rather than his words, the stars forming words and pictures in her mind on their own.

Eventually, Draco grew sleepy, and his thoughts strayed to his worries. He would now have to see Harry Potter regularly, as the Weasleys were tight with them. He would have to somehow make peace for a quarrel that was rooted all the way to his first year at Hogwarts. It would seem that as an adult, with understanding of the ridiculousness of his childhood antics, he would be more capable of smoothing out the argument. However, he couldn't do it; he felt an immense pride, one that had built up over years. Meanwhile, his mother would never allow him to marry someone of such low class; she would do all she could to alienate him from the Malfoy family and fortune. He would have to live in much worse conditions. He wondered if Narcissa would leave him with a share of the fortune before casting him away; he also wondered if the fact that she physically didn't show him much love, and even intimate talks between them were awkward, meant she might not love him enough to accept a decision like this.

He realized she had reevaluated her values after Lucius had died. She realized her fortune meant nothing when she lost someone she loved. Perhaps she would understand the power of love, the meaning it had, and how pale money was next to it. You couldn't buy yourself a new love, you couldn't pay to have someone you loved back.

His neck tingled with the feel of her soft, warm breath. He turned and saw that she had fallen asleep, just as he found the star Draco. He whispered to himself, "Draco, then." There it was, high in the sky, caught in the steady, flighty mist of clouds.

An owl called out at his words. It was the last thing he remembered before he, too, fell asleep.

&&&&&&&&&&

He woke up very early in the morning.

Draco sat up and saw that Ginny – he thought of her as Ginny now, for that was who she was and who he loved - was also sitting up, at the far edge of the blanket, picking clover flowers. She had quite a bouquet already. He watched her, wonderingly; even in the bleak, tired air of dawn she had the pull in her to pick simple flowers and gaze at them with appreciation of nature.

He didn't know what to say. His ears got hot at the thought of what happened during the night and he didn't know how to initiate some sort of communication now. Would she regret it? He wasn't sure if he regretted it or not. He felt so light, as if he could stand and float away; take flight and cheer at his new power. His eyes closed in pleasure, slightly arousing at the memory of what had occurred. Perhaps she, too, was puzzled with her feelings and was channeling her energy into the flowers.

She turned and looked him dead in the eyes.

Draco blinked away and sat up, "What time is it?" A panic filled his heart; Narcissa had gone to bed early and hadn't seen him glide through the doors, floating like a feather across the lawn with his blanket like a superhero's cape fluttering behind him, elated at the idea of spending an entire night with Ginny. However, she would surely notice his absence and search the grounds for him, and if she found him with Ginny in such compromising circumstances, he'd face utter humiliation in front of both his mother and Ginny and subsequently be miserable, one way or the other.

"It's barely five," She said, softly, "You could sleep some more. She won't be up this early. She's getting older."

_So she knows that I fear my mother, _he thought, and then smiled lightly at her, " I'm glad you understand. But... no, I'm up already. I don't think I could fall asleep again knowing we could be caught."

"We can't be together in secret like this."

"My mother's already banned you from the Malfoy grounds."

"Already? After one meeting? Imagine what she'd do if..."

"I know," he sighed.

"What do we do?" She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.

That red hair, those freckles, the shape of her nose: the features he'd despised in Ron Weasley, the features he'd laughed at with Crabbe and Goyle! Now he wanted to kiss every freckle, he wanted to cry and hold her and run his fingers through her hair, and tell her she was beautiful.

"I don't know what we'll do," Draco said carefully.

"You can leave your home," she said, "We both get a nice salary from the Prophet."

"My family line would die right there though, with me," he said, his Malfoy honor rising in him. He had been raised for nineteen years to honor his family, to respect their pureblood, spotless breed of fine people. They all looked alike, descended from old Anglo-Saxon blood, and remained looking it, with blonde hair and blue eyes and clear, pale complexions. The genes passed on from father to son and daughter; sons would marry women that possessed wealth and honor to their family name as well.

The Malfoy history would be lost with him; he would just become the final character in a long story he'd tell his grandchildren. All the great powerful men, all the strong, supportive women – and generations that lacked rebellion, that honed and respected the family's name! Nobody had disobeyed, strayed; if they had it was completely covered up and erased so that nobody had heard of it more than a generation later. Scandal was unspoken of. Their honor was thick as fog, blinding their eyes from a life that was different.

He had never wanted to stray, either. Though he was completely complacent towards and without any desire for the wife Narcissa and Lucius would turn up for him, and his job at the Daily Prophet (though it was "below" a Malfoy anyway, according to his family, and they all kept pushing their connections to the Ministry to get him a finer job). He had already rebelled more than anyone else; he was on the edge now of ruining the entire Malfoy name.

"Draco," She touched his arm lightly, "I love you."

"I love you too," He whispered breathily.

_Fuck everything. I'm never going to be in love again, not like this. I'm never going to be happy again. It's sacrificing myself for my family or my family for myself. The Malfoys are dying out anyway, my father's gone and Mother will die soon, unfortunately, she's so heartbroken, I don't think she'll carry on... _

Ginny saw his thoughtful expression, "Are you willing to be with me? For... for a long time?"

"Forever, maybe," He said softly.

She flushed at the thought, at the prospects of their relationship, "So... so you're going to face your family."

"There's not much left of the Malfoys anyway. A bunch of bickering, squabbling relatives, and the only other child I'm aware of is Katie. I'm sure if she stays with either parent we'll get to see her often enough, they won't alienate me, even if Narcissa might."

"Do you think your mother would?"

"I think... I think she's rethought love and priorities after my father died."

"So you're optimistic."

"She might leave the fortune in my hands, and disagree entirely with it, but let me go on... with you."

"When will you tell your mother?"

"Tonight at dinner," He responded, "The sooner the better. Whatever happens, happens. I'm ready."

"Me too," She squeezed his hand.

"Either way, I'm sticking beside you. Always."

"So you've decided after all."

"It doesn't matter what she says. I'm ready to be myself, not a Malfoy. I'm ready to leave the formula and start something new, something better. A different Malfoy family."

Ginny didn't want to question what he was suggesting – that they'd start a family together, get married. She wanted it desperately, she'd waited years for it; now she saw her dreams coming together in the most unlikely way. And the money too! Her family would never be poor again!

They faced each other. Draco could feel his soul swooning, lost in the dark centers of her eyes, her irises inviting, like milk chocolate. She looked back, at those ice-blue eyes, where she saw fragments of future in the flecks of true joy that have finally appeared in his. The window to his soul.

The sound of birds flapping from trees and singing to greet the day was overwhelming.

**Author's Note: **Here is where I intended to end. I'll see if I write another chapter... if I do I'll post it in a couple of days to a few weeks; if not, then this is the end, my friends. It ends just as I wished. But I'd love to have a scene of Draco telling his mother; of what happens; of meeting the Potters for the first time. We'll see if my muse will be with me, she's died recently anew.


End file.
